


Second To One

by MsLanna, SceneryTurnedWicked



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, assassinations, black magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 15:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11512497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsLanna/pseuds/MsLanna, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SceneryTurnedWicked/pseuds/SceneryTurnedWicked
Summary: At the lowest point in her life sor far, Billie decides to follow a murderer who can use magic through the streets of Dunwall. A decision that will change her life forever.





	1. Skin and Bones

**Author's Note:**

> I want ot thank my incomparable beta  Lord Cephalopod  without whom this story would have doed around midway. Thank you.
> 
> Also, a big thank you to [ M. Spencer](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SceneryTurnedWicked/pseuds/Omgpieplease) also known here as [SceneryTurnedWicked](http://mspencerillustration.tumblr.com/) for creating art more gorgeous than I could have asked for. 
> 
> I feel blessed to have worked with the two of you.

At the age of sixteen, Billie was scrawny enough that most people did not question her presentation as a boy. Knowing the lives other girls her age led, she would make use of it as long as she could.

It might have made things easier for her, posing as a girl. For one the murderer of Radanis Abele was not female. But cursed as this achievement was, she did not want to let go of it. He had deserved death. Just as many of the rich deserved it for their callous dismissal of all less fortunate.

They had no right, he had had no right – Billie unclenched her fist. It had been that hand, her hand, that had ended him. She could still feel the wood pressed against her palm. It had been bulky not made to be handle like that and yet it had nestled into her grip as if made for her hand alone.

The blood had been warm. As it spilt down his chest, spilt over her hand, rivulets of scalding red running over knuckles pale with tension. Her burning anger had abated with the flow. Sometimes she wondered if she could do it again; find a reason, step up, do what needed doing. It was the first part that gave her the pause. How did you decide who deserved to die? Who held that authority?

But right now, Billie had more pressing problems. She was running out of places to go. The Rat Pack had turned her down, Gammer Homderst had run out of work and even Donnie Stone was unwilling to have anything to do with her. Crouching in the darkness under stairs in the Old Port District she went through her list of contacts. It had become frightfully short in the few weeks after Abele's death.

Any hopes of impressing the Hatters or Bottle Street Gang into accepting her were shattered. Proper society might still be somewhat at a loss about who had killed the noble, but this was Dunwall's underground. People knew. She had turned up drenched in blood and her silence had said enough. She did not have to claim the kill. People knew that scrawny Billie had avenged his sweetheart.

His. Billie snorted. But she had chosen this. For now. Desperate times. Billie looked at the pathetic means at her disposal. By now they were few and far between even so. Still. There was always a party in the estates. You could find work if you were not picky and happy with scraps. Scraps sounded just dandy.

For weeks she had been down on her luck, rejected by those she had counted her friends and allies. So she had contacted everybody, even those she didn't know. But it was too late. Everybody knew her. Bad Luck Billie. It was almost funny how this incident was slowly pushing her towards the more swish quarters where the citizens didn't involve themselves with the petty gang lives.

She set off towards the Wrenhaven at a quick pace. She knew she wouldn't draw attention. There were always boys around running errands for the various gangs. Maybe she should have joined one of those sooner despite everything. Safe places to sleep were difficult to come by. Of course there were always safe places to sleep for girls. If you could call it sleep. If you could call it safe.

No. She shook the idea off. No gang for her. She was blending in easily. Being invisible had always been a very useful trait. You could not hit what you could not see. And sooner or later her mother forgot. It felt like ages since she had been home. Living on the streets with Deirdre had not been easy. Had been, Billie sighed. That was just it. It was over.

Kaldwin's Bridge loomed up before here. She rarely used it. The other bridges were less conspicuous. Fewer people used them for their leisurely walks to see and be seen. Even at night the rich snuck away, creeping into the niches at the low sides of the bride for forbidden tête-à-têtes. Sometimes Billie wondered what it was like. How it felt to slip away from a party instead of a mother's rage, to exchange guilty affections instead of petty crimes for survival.

The Wrenhaven distracted her each and every time, though. She stopped, resting her hands on the cool iron of the bannister. The water below was dark, grubby. But it did not matter, the river moved, creating little patterns of waves as it went by without hurry. The sea was already in sight. Billie followed the river with her eyes.

She would survive. Even now, she would make it. She would find something to eat, a place to sleep. She would survive. And then she would go to the harbour. She would damned well find one of those ships and go to sea. A smile crept over her face. It didn't matter if it was just a small whaling ship. Anything that went to sea would do. And one day she would work on one of those trading ship that travelled to the last corner of the Empire.

She would go everywhere, see everything. Tyvia, Morley, Serkonos. Every city between Samara and Karnaca. One day. Soon. She would get her own ship, be her own captain. Then she would go wherever she pleased and nobody could ever hold her down.

It was the last dream she had. Find a ship that did not know her curse. Find a captain who was ignorant of the sweeps the watch made to find her, of the visit from Karnaca's Grand Guard all the way from Serkonos. She had bested them all. It was a pride that tasted of dust and could not smother the anger flaring up.

She alone had bested them. By herself, on her own because everybody had deserted her. There were only two thoughts now in those she had known: how to make her leave or how to claim the price on her head.

Her eyes fell on a small boat on the river. She had tried that once. But she had not lasted longer than a few days. Wrenhaven River was nothing but a door to the world. She found no pleasure in working on it, in a vessel not much bigger than a carriage. And never going even close to the mouth of the river. No. Billie would not stay in Dunwall forever. She would leave all this behind. All of it. Her ship would be fast and its figurehead would have Deirdre's face.

The angry rumble of her stomach brought Billie back. She had pulled herself up on the bannister, the tips of her toes barely touching the ground. With a sigh she let herself down again. Her bright future would have to wait another day; if she didn’t get something to eat soon, she would be way too weak to impress any captain. Food and some sleep. A quick wash of the face and slicking down the hair with water. Small steps. She would get her ship eventually. And then she would show everybody.

Wasn't Lady Alyssa Timsh preparing a big party? Something about her daughter and school. Billie wondered what was to celebrate about that. But it did not matter as long as the party was an elaborate affair with tons of work. Extra hands were always needed. And quick fingers could gain more than they earned. Or maybe an opportunity would open for somebody with agile limbs and the right amount of determination.

She had to go to sea. It was either that or carving a bloody a path through Dunwall’s underworld leading straight to her own death.

 

* * *

 

There had been more than enough work. Not quite enough scraps for Billie's taste but there was nothing to be done about that. She was not ravenous or starving any longer. It had to count for something. And if she hung around long enough, more scraps would turn up.

There were not many places to hide near the mansion. Lady Timsh had hired extra guards who complicated things. But darkness fell and it wrapped itself around Billie reassuringly. Behind the high windows people moved, men in bright coats and women in brighter dresses. She could see the centre of attention now and then, a child, no older than ten years of age.

Nobody had ever made such a fuss about Billie going to any school. Actually, she had not gone to school but about that nobody had made any fuss about that either. Billie crept up to a balcony, peering into the salon on the first floor. What was it like, living like that? Careless with food and drink. There was so much food in that house. She had seen it herself.

What was it that never made them look beyond their own circles? They stayed holed up in their own quarters. So they had to know what was waiting beyond their carefully crafted borders. Did any of them ever get the idea to do something about it? Something that was not sniffing at the mess.

Billie sighed. She would have to wait to find out. Wait until her trading ship had brought home all the riches of the Empire and allowed her a glimpse into that world. Her hands curled around the curving bars of the balustrade, pulling her up towards her enticing future.

A servant brought glasses and a tray of food out to one of the mansion’s many balconies. Billie noted because firstly the balcony was not that far, secondly she might be able to grab some of that in an unguarded moment and thirdly there was always the chance that it would be forgotten out there for her pick up at leisure.

She hoisted herself onto the balustrade, gauging the street low before her and fastest way up the other side. It would include some tricky climbing, but she had done worse.

Before she could move from her crouch, a man came to the balcony followed by two guards. He seemed to expect a meeting, possibly clandestine because he did not react the least when the glass door behind him closed. Billie thought she could see gauzy curtains fall.

The noble pulled a cigar from a silver case and lit it. The two guards lingered, exuding an air of intense disinterest. Something was about to happen. Billie felt it. The air itself seemed to tighten around her and in her throat. For a heartbeat, the world stood perfectly still.

It was magic. One moment she was alone in the night and in the next he crouched only a few feet away. Billie blinked. The figure was gone in a black flutter only to reappear over the balcony down the street. Her jaw dropped.

So did the assassin. The three men on the lower balcony didn't stand a chance. The nobleman leaning on the wrought iron rail cushioned the man's fall, taking a knife in the throat in the process. His guards, alarmed by the sudden appearance of an armed stranger reached for their weapons. But their movements were cut as short as their attempts to shout by the long blade slitting their throats in one fluid motion.

Billie couldn’t get a clear glimpse of the assassin. His dark hair mingled with the flicker of black as he moved on. A long scar was running down the side of his face and Billie was certain he had seen her. He confirmed her suspicion with a wink and turned his back, vanishing in another scattering of black shadow. A second later, he appeared on the street below. The silence of the seconds sped up again and Billie found that she had hoisted herself over the balustrade of her hiding place hanging on to the outward curve almost awkwardly.

Billie let go and dropped to the cobbles to give pursuit. The silver cigar case flashed up in her mind. Good money on that, weeks of food. But the image was drowned out by the curve of a slender blade cutting down three men in the blink of an eye.

Three men. In complete silence. In seconds. Maybe Deirdre would still be alive if only she had been that skilled. Faster, more precise, silent as the fall of night. Billie followed the assassin through Dunwall. Who was he? And where did he belong? Where did people like him belong? Who were people like him?

Following him wasn't even a conscious decision. Her only fear was that of losing him in the night. The assassin disappeared repeatedly only to reappear in impossible places, up on roof tops, on ducts, on broken stairways. That made it very difficult to predict his movements.

To her relief, he did not vanish completely. Any time he dissolved into black air she managed to spot him before he disappeared. Seeing him and following were two very different things though. Billie could not scale buildings in the blink of an eye. She had to scramble up ladders, cling to thin ledges leading around the corners of buildings only to see her prey vanish into another dead end.

And she was good. Billie had grown up in Dunwall. Without somebody to cage her and many reasons to not be at home, she knew the city like the back of her hand. Even the posh parts. Still he was taking routes she had never considered before, doubling up on his path and leading her in circles. It was only on average that they kept going south.

In the middle of Kaldwin's Bridge Billie was certain he had noticed her. His gaze honed in on her position, lingered for a moment and moved on. She could not tell what it meant. Her heart thundered in her ears for no apparent reason. She was not doing anything illegal, was she? For once?

Witnessing murder was not a crime. Trailing a killer was also not a crime. She took a deep breath leaving the bridge behind. By the time the assassin swerved westward Billie was starting to feel the exertion. He didn’t seem to tire, if anything he picked up the pace. Cursing under her breath Billie considered giving up for exactly one second. Her pride would not allow it though. She had come this far. She would see this through. She would show that smug bastard.

Somewhere in the backstreets behind the Slaughterhouse Row he vanished into a derelict building. Billie contemplated for a moment before carefully climbing it. Many of the windows were broken, a few were boarded up. She caught glimpses of movement inside, dark coats and long muzzles. She had to climb all the way to the top level before she saw him again.

The red coat set him apart. He was talking to a few people in blue coats wearing whaling masks. Billie held on to the ledge outside the window, studying the room. It was a strange mix between office, library and bedroom. Maps were plastered on one wall, portraits were placed on them, some of them crossed out.

The assassin took a red pen and carefully crossed out the face of a man. Billie realised that it had been the noble on the balcony. So he was indeed a paid assassin and this was his lair. Billie glanced around again. It was probably unwise to linger. He had minions. Who knew how many outposts there were ready to spot her.

Billie bit her lip. She wanted this. Dropping from above and sinking the knife into a warm body that softened her fall in its demise. A blade sweeping through the night in a glint of silver cutting red lines on skin in slow silence. She could taste the blood. Billie closed her eyes, slowly withdrawing her teeth from her lip. She hesitated for a moment. But there was nothing more she could do.

"Leaving already?" The assassin leant against the wall at the far side of the ledge.

Billie felt his piercing eyes and tried to get a reply past her lips. She failed. So she just nodded.

"To do what, I wonder." He took a step towards her, more threatening than nonchalance should be able to. "You followed me, found this place after witnessing the murder of a noble. How much is that worth?"

Billie swallowed. She hadn't even thought that far. Now that he mentioned it, it seemed obvious, inevitable. She shook her head violently. "That's not what it is!"

"What is it then?" He challenged. "You put quite an effort into following me."

So he had noticed. When she had been proud of her stealth and staying undetected. Billie felt embarrassment burn its way up from her toes. "You killed them, all three. But quiet like, without a sound. Nobody noticed. I want to be able to do that."

"Have you killed before?" He crossed his arms before him.

Billie nodded, almost shy to admit it. "But it was" - Deirdre's form now lifeless, shaking only with the movements of her attacker – "different" – the blade slipping through his throat, warm blood everywhere like a dirty embrace covering the whole world – "messy." Red stains on her clothes and skin, red mud clinging to her feet and the limp body of Deirdre. "It was not like that."

"Let's say I believe you. One dead body." He shrugged. "Why have you not killed again?"

Billie looked at her hands. They were not clean now. They were rarely clean because why bother? But she could see the blood on them any given moment, All she had to do was close her eyes. She took a deep breath pushing the memory away. "I did not know who," she whispered.

The assassin raised a brow. For a while they regarded each other in silence, then he gestured her into the room. "If that is all. There is an easy solution."

She watched him climb back into his office, turning his back to her no less. Billie did not believe for a second she could take him out. Maybe it was a test. Maybe following him had been a test as well. And what did she have to lose?

She could still see the silent annihilation before her inner eyes. Over in seconds. Clean and fast. You could miss it in the blink. Everybody else had. Billie got up and climbed into the room.

“So you want to be an assassin.” He had taken a cigar and lit it, studying her through the rising smoke.

Billie nodded. Her eyes hung on to his hands. If only she could hold a blade as comfortably as he had done. Firm, completely in control, swiping through the flesh at his command. Her own hand was twitching, her fingers moving restless against each other.

“Then you have come to the right place.” He indicated the derelict building. “The Whalers are the best Dunwall has to offer.”

“Who?” It was out before Billie could stop herself.

“You haven’t heard of the Whalers?” His tone was incredulous and possibly offended.

Billie shook her head again. She needed to find her voice again. If he thought her a dumb idiot, he’d just throw her out again. When she could almost feel the grip of a real sword in her palm. The urge to impress the stranger was stupendous.

“One more thing to work on.” He inhaled the smoke deeply, releasing it slowly. “I am Daud, and the Whalers are my men. You do as you’re told and we’ll see how much of an assassin I can make out of you.”

“Deal.” Billie held her hand out meaning to grab the chance before Daud reconsidered.

“That fast.” He looked from her outstretched hand to her face. “What are you running from, then? And how can I be sure it won’t come to bite me in the arse?”

Billie straightened up. No use lying. “I killed Radanis Abele. None of my contacts will take me in.”

If Daud had heard about that murder, he did not show it.

It made Billie mad all over. She had been going through hell the past month and nobody cared. Deirdre dead and nobody cared. Injustice rampant and instead of banding together the weak of society fought each other. Who did they think they were? Who did he think he was? Given the chance, she could do anything he could. Her fists tightened.

“What about family?” Daud wanted to know.

Billie thought of her mother. The smell of alcohol permeating every bit of their small home, the sticky floors, the heavy air. The men coming and going. She was used to thing being thrown at her from a young age. In a way having the whole of Dunwall do that still hurt less. Just another stinking mouth. The proof that words had power.

“None that I am attached to,” she finally replied with a shake of her head.

Daud took a step towards her, dropping the cigar to his side. He leant down, looking right into her eyes, scrutinising what was inside her. Billie had no doubt that he could do that. She could feel it.

After some time, he straightened again, taking another pull from the cigar as he returned to his desk. “So what’s you name?” Daud asked rummaging around in a drawer.

“Billie.”

He looked up, and her her gaze. There was something he was waiting for.

“Billie, sir,” she amended.

Daud nodded and returned his attention to the contents of the drawer. “Good. You’re not stupid.” He picked something from the drawer and returned to stand in front of her. “So here is the deal. You go downstairs. Grab a bite and forty winks. Tomorrow we will see if you’re actual assassin material.”

He put a small item into her hand. Billie stared. It was a golden coin, more money than she had ever seen in her life. The things she could do with that. She raised her eyes to meet his. “And this?”

“You don’t have to stay,” Daud explained. His lips curved upwards minimally. “Leave if you want to. But know that one word of tonight to the wrong person is your end. We will find you.”

His glance strayed behind her and when Billie turned to follow it, she could see several figures vanish in the darkness. They had strange protruding faces with shiny eyes. She held on to the coin as if it would keep her from drowning.

“Understood,” she replied. “Sir.”

“Good. Now leave.” He pointed at the door behind her.

Billie nodded again. Trying to leave without turning her back was a complicated manoeuvre she mostly failed at. In the end she just bolted. There was nobody behind the door. No reflecting circles in the dim corridor. Still she could hear voices, some close, some further away, and the whisper of movement.

She found a stairwell. It was moderately lit, probably to keep people from falling. Most of the handrails were missing. It smelled of mouldy wood, fire and leather. When she descended, the smell of hot food drifted into the mix.

Daud had said to get something to eat. Would the others know? What would happen if she just walked up to whoever was cooking and asked for dinner? The edge of the coin bit into her palm. She would find out, wouldn’t she. Nightmare scenarios chased each other through her head as she followed the smell of stew.

There was an actual kitchen on the ground floor. Nobody gave her a second glance when she stepped into the room. Billie looked around, slowing moving along one of the walls.

“Let me know when you’re done lurking and ready to eat,” the man at the stove said without turning around. Then he pointed with her ladle. “Bowls and spoons over there. You get it dirty, you get it clean. Over there’s bread, cheese and bacon. Tell procurement before you take the last.”

For a while Billie just stood where she was. When nothing else happened she turned to where the bread was supposed to be. The man ignored her. He wore an outfit that looked like Daud’s only in blue. There was bread. It looked good, not a bit mouldy. The knife lying before it was exceedingly sharp. Billie handled it with care.

She moved on to the bowls when a group of three entered the kitchen chattering. “Hey Shane. We’ll take it up with us. For Devon and Allie as well. They’re reporting in.”

“Make no mess and bring the things back,” the cook named Shane replied.

The three threw Billie a perfunctory greeting assembled trays of food and left.

“You look mightily stupid with your mouth open and the bread nowhere near it,” Shane commented. He put a steaming bow into her other hand. “Finish up here as you like or move up. You’re staying on first floor with Dhri. can’t miss him, he’s trying to grow the most ugly moustache I have ever seen.”

Billie nodded. She felt incapacitated with both her hands full. Still, the kitchen seemed safe enough. She wolfed own the food which was actually good and deserved better. But all she could think of was getting her hands free. She washed up and put everything away before trying to move out of the room again unnoticed.

Most rooms of the first floor were connected. Some had forcibly been added to the layout by crude holes in the walls. The only light came from a table. Another man in a blue coat sat at it, poring over a thick book. When Billie approached, he looked up and nodded. Billie could see what Shane had meant. The moustache was a labour of love but just not coming along. It looked as if somebody had drawn most of it on with a dying pen

“The new one,” he greeted. “Billie, right? I was told Daud brought another.”

“By who?” Billie asked. There was a small light glowing at the end of a very long tunnel inside of her.

“Perimeter. Talk spreads fast in the Whalers.” He looked her up and down. “Could have been worse.”

“Perimeter?” Billie interrupted before she could stop herself. “But I-”

“Daud let you trail him so we let you pass,” Dhri shrugged.

Let. The word rubbed her all wrong. But looking around it made sense. This wasn’t a gung-ho gang. Everything was very organised. She had caught a few glimpses of human forms on her way here. But they had vanished in a heartbeat and their faces had ended in long muzzles.

Dhri watched her. Then he continued. “I got you a mat and a blanket. Not the best, but what can you expect in the middle of the night. Find a place to sleep. Tomorrow we’ll see what you’re good for.”

Billie took the blanket ant mat and looked into the dark rooms. It was frightening. Nobody had shouted at her. Nobody had threatened her. Nobody had made any move to hit her. She made her way carefully once her eyes got used to the darkness. She saw a lot of people sleeping, most of them on mattresses on the floor, a few in beds.

There was no order to it she could discern. In the end she found a place against a wall, close to a window. The wall was cold and the window barred, but Billie would settle for the illusion of escape.

The mat was a little damp and the blanket smelled of old cupboards. The noises of people around her sleeping made Billie uneasy. And yet. She was warm, her stomach was full and a man who could kill in glittering silence had noticed her. Had invited her. Scrawny Billie, running from bottles and stones.

Billie clutched the coin and tried to sleep. It was not easy. There were strangers around. How could she trust that she would wake up at all. She had a gold coin for Void's sake. She was as good as dead.

Her eyes closed slowly. She would show them all. Each and every one who had ever hurt her. They would know the taste of her silver blade in their skin if only for a moment. Dreams of blood and steel pulled her into sleep.

 

* * *

 

Somebody grabbed her shoulder. Unthinking Billie threw the grubby blanket at the assailant, trying to subdue them when the wall behind her made flight impossible.

"Hoy, man. Calm down Billie," a voice called over the muffled sounds from under the blanket.

Her eyes focussed on her surroundings, one hand bringing up her knife nevertheless. Face hung before her, all of them foreign, some of them grinning. But they stayed back. Billie blinked a few times and the floating heads attached themselves to crouching bodies. Four of them to be exact.

Though none of them moved, Billie mapped out the most successful route to the next window. She would likely die before she got halfway there, but if all went well, so would half of them with the other two at least injured.

"Are you with us now?" The young woman closest to he asked.

"Now that's reflexes," the one under the blanket exclaimed.

"Any movements while sleeping is rad reflexes to you Jorij." Another teenager said peeling the blanket of Jorij. "One could draw the complete map of Dunwall on your sleeping ass without you noticing."

"If you could draw," Jorij retorted. He held out the blanket in Billie's direction. "Don't let Vane get you down. They're a total spoilsport."

Billie looked from one face to the next.

"Anyway," the woman crouch before her ended the burgeoning discussion. "You're coming with us today. I'm Nebiat and the silent one is Daniel. Any questions?"

"I-"

"Breakfast's in the kitchen, you got five minutes. Toilets and washrooms are down there." Nebiat pointed further down the building."

Billie nodded. Then she bolted in the indicated direction. As much because nature called rather urgently as to get away from the strangers. When she pulled her tattered clothes back into something attempting neatness, the coin Daud had given her clung heavily against her skin. She had put it into one of the more hidden pockets.

Now she took it out and turned it over in her hands. It was enough to get away for sure. And Daud knew it. What did she want? The tarnished mirror had no reply she hadn't given herself over and over. Billie pocketed the coin again and returned to the waiting group. They were all wearing a grey version of Daud's outfit.

"Ready?" Nebiat asked.

Billie nodded.

"You didn't even have breakfast!" Jorij objected.

"She's fresh from the street," Nebiat said. "She'll be fine missing one meal. Right?"

"Right." Billie wasn't sure whether to get angry or laugh. Both wasn't a combination that worked. "And I need to talk to Daud." The name tasted strange and the reactions around her turned it as illicit on her tongue as she had feared.

"Again? You just saw him yesterday," Jorij burst out.

"Yes," Vane drawled. "Sometimes Jorij can go a whole week without being cited for being a twat by the boss."

"What do you need?" Nebiat asked. She was obviously the voice of reason.

"I," Billie began. "He gave me something. I want to return it."

The young woman gave her a knowing nod. "Better get through your first day first. He'll be back later."

Billie nodded. "Okay. Let's go then." She would do this. Whatever horrors this day held, she would brave them all.

It turned out that there were no horrors. For a whole day Billie was on edge but nothing happened. What there was, was a lot of work, but that was just to be expected. The Whalers were not a small gang. They were organised and congregated at their headquarters. Billie stopped counting at thirty people.

And that many people needed basic upkeep. There seemed to be no fixed eating times. The kitchen was always frequented by those who ate as well as by those who prepared food. Billie had expected to be dropped there for cutting and peeling but there was no need.

“Good for when you had a downer,” the young man chipping away at the vegetables said. “Makes you know that there is always something you can do. Always a way to help.”

It made sense, Billie thought. If the repercussions of failure were not death or dismemberment what could you do? There were errands to buy and acquire daily necessities. Not assigning lowly kitchen duty, it seemed. She made a spiky mental note about it. Knowing the punishment dealt was important.

There were always errands to be run, purchases to be made, deals to be barterred. Something for much later, Billie decided. That many people meant there was always some mess to tidy away. Everybody kept their own space clean, but most of the compound was common space. And when you laid out apples, grapes and plums, sooner or later, you had to take out the trash.

Older members were on guard duty. Missions comprised infiltration of houses as much as gather information on the streets and bartering deals with merchants. Billie soon lost her shaky grip on who was who and doing what. There were too many people around. And often she couldn’t even tell them all apart.

Everybody was wearing the same outfit in grey or blue. Grey for Novices and Blue for Masters. Only Daud was wearing red. Billie wondered when she would get her own set. Because she would.

Nebiat was still wearing grey. So there was some subdivision in the groups. Maybe she was practising leadership before she could become a Master. Herding the other Novices was not all that difficult. They all wanted to be here. It was a new idea for Billie. But then, she wanted to be here as well.

Another disorienting thing were the masks. Billie had seen them before on workers in the whale oil procession plants. They were a safeguard against poisonous gas there. Here, they mainly made it difficult to tell people apart. That was a reason the Whalers did it of course.

"Immortality," Nebiat explained. "They might kill one of us but they'd never know because the next coming for them looks just the same. And then fear does half your work."

But that was not all that made the whalers special. Billie figured out soon that the fantastic feats she had seen Daud perform had their very own source. Black magic. It was an integral part of the Whalers. Those who shared in it did not speak about it. But everybody knew it was there and most hoped to get to use it themselves one day. Billie remembered how Daud had appeared from nowhere, how he disappeared in dissipating shadow.

The Overseers condoned Black Magic. Any magic was black magic. It came from the Outsider, the antagonist of peace and order. Billie had not given it much attention. The Abbey of Everyman had nothing to give when she needed it the most. Words could not fill an empty stomach. The appeal to endure did nothing to lighten the load.

And the short months of happiness stolen with Deirdre was under sins to them. No, Billie did not care what the Overseers thought about Black magic. It served Daud well enough. It would serve her. She would make it serve her.

At the end of the day, Billie didn’t feel as if she had actually done much. She had walked her heels off, seen probably everything and forgotten half of it again. But there had been meals and nobody had shouted at her. Or threatened her. Not a single stone or bottle thrown in her direction. After weeks of sharp-edged rejection this felt too good to be true. But it was.

“Tomorrow you start getting useful,” Nebiat told her. She did not say how. It was probably a test. Everything was a test.

Billie nodded. She checked on her sleeping place which looked undisturbed. Not that there was much to it. The mat and blanket were where she left them. She crouched down and scanned the room. Nobody paid attention to her. She pulled the coin from her safe pocket. It was warm from spending the day close to her body.

Billie turned it over in her hands. It was still enough to leave Dunwall. Enough to go to sea. Finally. But the sound of the ocean was drowned out by the flutter of black as Daud disappeared into darkness. She wanted that. Black magic. The power to take life at will without repercussions. Billie closed her eyes.

Deirdre’s empty eyes looked up at the grey Dunwall sky. Radanis Abele writhing on the ground with the end of a wooden gazelle sticking out of his eye. The blood drying cold on her hands. The drizzle of days spent on cobbles on tin that followed.

What if?, the voice whispered in her head. She could not undo what was done. She could only prevent it from happening again. So she would. Billie got up and made her way up to Daud’s office. She would stay. She did not need his charity or pity. She would have respect.

Whalers in blue were scattered on the top floor. They formed a guard pattern, despite being busy with other tasks. Billie made her way through them carefully. Maybe they did not see her, maybe they ignored her. She was the only person not in Whaler uniform. Not a member but obviously not a danger either. It grated. Billie considered herself plenty dangerous.

“Why are you lurking about again already?”

Daud’s voice startled her from behind a shelf. She had not been hiding per se. The approach was just something to be considered carefully. She knew almost nothing about this man. She held many assumptions, but everybody knew those would get you killed as soon as promoted.

"I am not lurking!" Billie stepped from the shadows.

"Alright. What is it then?" Daud barely looked up.

"I am watching." She stuck her chin out. The last she would do was admit to him that she had been mustering up courage.

"And why would you do that?" Now he did look up and watcher her intently.

"I will stay," Billie proclaimed. "I want to be an assassin, the best assassin. One day I want to be you."

"Indeed." Daud's lip quirked up in almost a smile. "If that is all…?"

"No." Billie got out around the embarrassment of her last statement. How stupid. Insolent. She had to be more careful. "There is this." She took a few tentative steps towards him, holding up the coin like an offering and a shield. "I don't need it."

“And why would you not?”

“Because I stay.” Billie faltered. She had assumed that gear would be provided. What if she was wrong? What if she had to earn her own outfit and weapons? Was she expected to pay for her food at some point? She had not asked. And she still had no idea what the punishments here were like.

“Who do I pay for my upkeep?” She finally asked.

Daud snorted. “You will pay for your upkeep. I am not running a charity. But you will not see coin again until you make more than you cost. How will you achieve that.”

“I will learn everything,” Billie replied confidently. “You will see. I am good. I can-”

“Read and write, I assume?”

Billie’s mouth snapped shut. It was enough to get along. And what more was a signature than a heap of squiggles that looked the same each time you drew them anyway?

“Because if you want to do everything you have to be able to keep books balanced, check books, write letters to customers and targets.” He indicated the coin in her hand. “Can you do that?”

She shook her head short and angry at herself. Then Billie closed her fingers over the coin. “I will.”

“Good.” Daud returned his attention back to the papers on his desk. “Killing people is the easier part of the job.”

That was easy for him to say. The image of the silver curve of his blade slicing through the night had burnt itself into her memory. “Yes, sir.” Billie melted back into the shadow, walking down the stairs. Reading and writing. That meant a mentor. She would have to get to know the people around her. And she would.

Billie balled her fist around the money. Daud could be as dismissive as he liked. She would show him. Hell and high water she would show him until he apologised for ever doubting her.


	2. Shape My World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Get up! We’re off!” Dhri called.

Billie was one the first to make it outside, completely dressed and all gear in place. If you could call a knife, grappling hooks, length of different wire and a few swathes of cloth gear. Her grey coat had more pockets to store more. There was space in the board leather sash. As soon as she could, Billie would also make sure there was a backup knife strapped to her leg.

“Eager to see some action?” Dhri asked.

“I’m back-up and lookout,” Billie replied. “Not much chance for action.”

But she was excited. It was her first real job. Running errands was all very nice and she was getting really good at keeping her eyes and ears open. Nobody paid attention to a scrawny kid. Out of her Whaler outfit, Billie could sneak in almost anywhere. Being invisible had been a useful trait for survival. Now it kick-started her career.

“That was fast,” Nebiat had commented when Billie had gone on her first reconnaissance run. Maybe she was right. But there was an undeniable advantage in passing for a boy or girl at will. And when everybody was looking for a boy with a knife looking for murder, it was easy to huddle up with the serving girls and abuse nervous chatter as a short cut to information.

Billie was aware that there were rules. And she knew where and when to break them for maximum effect. Who cared anyway? They were assassins. Rules did not apply.

The others assembled. Vinc, another Master accompanied Dhri to execute the actual assassination. Three more Novices would stand guard in places of varying difficulty. Billie was not the youngest in the group. She was the newest though. Six months among the Whalers, six months training. It was the reason she had only a knife. You could do everything sloppy or one thing well.

Billie had decided to excel at what she did. She would handle her knife with skill in action before she brought the next weapon along. Pistols were loud, too. She did not like them. They alerted everybody which could be a good distracting strategy. But she would not be the distraction. Billie planned to be the main attraction. She would handle the kill.

Dhri gave them their paths and positions. One by one the Whalers vanished into the shadows. One day, she would be the last to go. Billie slipped through the streets of the Distillery district. It was a low level target. Nothing Daud had to handle personally. Billie’s lips compressed into a thin line. One day she would accompany the boss himself.

She would be the best assassin of his Whalers. The one he sent whenever he would not do a job himself. She would accompany him to those high profile kills into the Estate District. One day.

Today her path led her over the rooftops of Dunwall, along the drains and windowsills. Two Shots Wilson ran a small pawn shop in a small backstreet. Dhri and Vinc would enter the place from the front and back while the Novices made sure nobody saw anything untoward. Of course, she had the easiest job, the place where it was most unlikely that anybody came along ever.

Billie crouched behind a chimney, peering down into the street. Knowing where to look, she could make out the other Whalers as they slipped into place. It was overcast, the lack of hard shadows helping them hide. She gave Hanni a thumbs up to let her know all was clear. Hanni did not like her much. Billie was rising too fast for her liking. It was hard work, a lot of hard work, to rise so fast. Billie put everything she had into it. If that made others salty, it was their problem. Billie intended to be the best and she would start right now.

Dhri entered the place like any other person through the front door. Billie scanned the vicinity. There was nothing amiss, nothing unusual going on. A few pigeons quarrelled about the best place to sit a roof away. A woman shortly moved a curtain aside to look into the street, then returned to whatever she had been doing. Billie watched the window and adjoining ones for a while. Nothing.

Billie had thought that assassinations would happen at night. Everybody thought so. It made killing people in broad daylight so much easier. Neighbours got suspicious if you entered houses in the middle of the night. But nobody bated an eye at a customer going into a pawn shop during opening hours. It was its own kind of magic.

Hanni made the mission accomplished signal. Billie smiled. It was good to have things work out. Even if she had done absolutely nothing but crouch beside a chimney and watch empty rooftops. Accomplished missions were good missions. Another small step towards greater things. Billie waited until she saw Dhri exit the shop. He even had a small brown paper bag as if he had purchased something.

And that was that. Billie made her way back to the headquarters. It took longer than the assassination had taken. It was frustrating. She had expected more excitement, more adventure. Instead she got this. How much time had she spent on making sure her gear was in perfect shape?

“Boring jobs are good job,” Dhri lectured.

Billie sighed. He was right. And Dhri didn’t waste energy. If he told you something it was worth knowing. It was also a sign that he considered you promising enough to make use of the knowledge.

“And your role played into your strengths. Lurk.” He strutted off with a grin.

Lurk. That’s what the Whalers had taken to calling her. Because she lurked everywhere if you believed them. Which was wrong. Billie didn’t lurk. She watched. From a safe distance sometimes because some knowledge was deemed above her pay-grade.

Billie made a face Dhri couldn’t see and went to look for Melek. She had chosen the junior bookkeeper as her teacher for reading, writing and maths. Melek had the most beautiful handwriting, something Billie would never achieve, readable was her current goal. On top of that, Melek could manipulate numbers until they curled up in a corner and cried.

By means incomprehensible to Billie, the Whalers received small amounts of money from many rich families in Dunwall. There was allegedly trade going on though nobody ever saw any of it. The numbers said it was there and everybody believed the number. Numbers didn’t lie. Not unless Melek told them to.

Fraud was an elegant method to continually seep money from your targets. A bit like taxes. But Billie knew that would never be her way. She wanted to kill. She wanted to kill clean, quick, and quiet. The only reason she took up numbers and letters was that Daud had told her to. Well, not directly. But directly enough.

“You’ll never be as good as Daud,” Jorij told her.

They were sparring and the polished wood of the training knives left bruises on her arms and sometimes on her face when she wasn’t careful. “I will settle for second then.” Billie feinted before kicking out the legs under Jorij.

But he didn’t fall. Jorij easily rolled away, aiming for her thigh as he came up again. Billie blocked, trying to lock their knives so she could rip his out of his grip. Jorij had more training, but his hold was his weak point. As expected his weapon came loose when she forced his hand through a series of uncomfortable angles.

This time his eyes did not follow the knife vaulting away. So he countered when she tried to step on his toes and keel him over. It did not matter. In his block, Jorij opened his defences just enough for Billie to thrust her knife under his arm and press its tip against his belly. Game over.

“You’re getting good,” Jorij admitted. He went to pick up his knife again. “You should really start on swords.”

Billie shook her head. Swords were long, they needed a range to be effective. She preferred to sneak up on her opponent, almost clinging to them to slip her blade into their throats. At least that was the theory. She had not gotten to kill or even wound anybody yet. Boring jobs all the way.

“Perhaps.” She took up position opposite of him again. “But I only have a knife. And I have my eyes on another one, a real beauty with s slightly serrated edge and a whalebone grip. I’ll ask Jin to teach me fight with both.”

“You’re crazy.” Jorij made a tentative stab. “They’ll have your ears for dinner.”

“Unlikely.” Billie batted off his blade easily. “They’re vegetarian, it think. Scary, yes, but the best fighter with two knives there is.”

“You better stop fighting like a cabbage then before you ask them.” Instead of completing his lunge, Jorij stepped sideways, bringing up his knife along her ribs.

Billie had to scramble aside to avoid the blade. Since she was unbalanced already, she dove for his right leg on a trajectory that would help her regain her balance. She would have to make a good plan on how to approach Jin. They were fierce and not approachable at all. Especially not for Novices. But Billie wanted to be the best and if that meant bothering the best, that was what she would do.

For now, she had to concentrate on her sparring though. It was no good losing to Jorij because her head was already a few steps ahead. Steps she would never make if she kept losing to Jorij.

 

* * *

 

 It was impossible to find a good moment to approach Jin. They always looked grumpy. If there were moments in which Jin was less than put out, they shared them with only a few they trusted. Billie watched for weeks. It was hopeless. Approaching Jin during training did not sound promising either. After all they were wielding two knives and an aggressive personality.

So Billie approached her after a long, frustrating day. She had been on another mission that went smooth as could be. No chance to prove any of her abilities. Daud sometimes watched a bit during training. But she was not bad enough to warrant admonishing, thank the Outsider. But she was also not good enough to grab one of the sparse words of praise.

So how would she ever show him her progress if she could not shine on a mission? Her foul mood was not lightened when Melek sent her away.

“Come back when you actually want to learn something,” she had said, peering up from her books. “Don’t waste my time as well.”

Billie had trudged into the kitchen where the last of the baked apples passed her on its way out. The next batch wouldn’t be ready for an hour. Her mood could hardy drop any further. It seemed the perfect moment to approach Jin. What was the worst that could happen?

“Finally talking to me huh?” Jin looked at her, narrowing her eyes. Maybe ‘um’ had not been the best opening line. “You’ve been following me like a stray for weeks now.”

“I was hoping you would teach me how to fight with two knives.” Billie held the glare.

Jin measured her shortly. “How am I to teach anything to someone who can’t even get their hands bloody?” They shook their head and turned away.

Billie stayed, her mind racing. How would she get her hands bloody? All missions were too well planned and she was not considered for the riskier ones yet. But then, Jin had never said it had to be human blood.

The next months, Billie volunteered for every hunt, every butchering of food anything that involved cutting up meat. She did a few hits on whaling factories. It was disgusting, cutting a piece of meat from the living whales that hung above and were slowly bled dry. Their sad songs haunted Billie worse than the low warble when she plunged her knife into their fat bellies.

It was no pretty work. But after a while Billie got it. There was a decided difference between the reactions of a knife on a wooden dummie or even one filled with straw and a knife meeting the soft yielding of flesh. Wooden knives on skin did not compare either.

And it paid off. Two month into her quest to cut anything made of meat the Whalers got or needed, Jin approached her. They showed her one move only. A simple upward slash. Jin corrected Billie’s position a few times. Then they left. And that was that. Billie took a while to process. Then she practised.

It took over a week before Jin added the next attack and then another week again. Billie tried to combine the three into something longer. In response, Jin almost carved her up in a display how that did not make sense.

“Stay with what you know,” they told her. “You know nothing yet. Don’t assume.”

Billie bit down her reply. Instead she just nodded, not trusting herself with words. She was no idiot. She knew how to handle a knife. But if those were Jin’s conditions for teaching her anything, she would comply.

It was not that she didn’t make progress. She had borrowed her first book and the reading was going okay. The story was about the history of Dunwall. Billie wondered if there was nothing more interesting about. She would have to ask. Melek let her do simple calculations on her own, only checking the results. And she beat Jorij in training all the time.

It was time to aim higher, time for the next step. She wondered if she should talk to Daud. She wanted to. But at the same time the thought was suffocating. What if he didn’t talk to her because she hadn’t lived up to his expectation? What if the only reason she was still with the Whalers was that he had forgotten about her?

It was illogical, of course. Daud ran the Whalers efficiently, he knew what was going on. A word at the right time in the right circumstanced had diffused a couple of rising rivalries. And she did see him every day. He was not unreachable. Billie just didn’t feel as if she had enough reason to talk to him. What was she going to say? I made Jin show me six moves with two knives? Now its eight moves? It sounded ridiculous even inside her head.

So she watched. Billie knew where Daud was almost all the time. She knew the missions, the targets and approximate timetables. It was probably an obsession. Billie also kept an eye on who was going on which mission with what task. Who was designated guard duty time and again, who was clearing a path, who was infiltrating the scene in advance.

Looking at the skill sets, she tried to gauge what was preferred for what. She might just have asked, the other Whalers considered her nosy as it was. She didn’t understand. Assassination was their job. How could you be nosy about that? Everybody had parts they played. There had to be a pattern. With that pattern, you could consciously work in the direction you wanted to go.

“He’ll never take you along,” Vane told her. “You’re a tiny piece of ugly. How would he even notice you’re there?”

Billie had smiled. The next day she volunteered for her first infiltration of a noble house. The Thompsons were hiring because they had to tighten security and those extra guards were more people to accommodate. It was easy to get a job as a maid. Billie felt funny in the tight trousers. The white apron and bonnet marked her as much as they rendered her invisible.

Still gathering intel disguised as a servant was time-consuming work and not without danger. Not only could you be detected, but what if your betters decried your face was too pretty to go unnoticed? Or the rest of you too tempting? But Vane was right. She was almost invisible.

A duster afforded her hours of observation. It was like a miracle. Nobody seemed to think twice about her walking in and out of rooms if she had a tray and something to drink on her. In some cases, she was even welcomed.

The family was not doing well. They had challenged the Pendletons in the mining industry and the Pendletons had taken offence. Now business was dropping all over. Buyers changed trade to the Pendletons and money to pay the workers was getting scarce. A problem the other family did not face as they chose to ‘employ’ slaves in their mines.

Billie found that within the week, she had a pretty good picture of the Thompson’s situation. It did not look good. They did have a daughter who had been asked to marry one of the Pendleton twins to merge the houses and save the Thompsons even if not their name or independence. Geoffrey Thompson had declined politely.

It was a gutsy move and a dangerous one. But his wife and daughter had been grateful. Both twins had a bad reputation. They were also a good twenty years older than Rose Thompson. Billie understood that this was why she was here. The Pendletons could not stand resistance. So they would teach the Thompsons a lesson.

It was exciting to be part of that lesson. It was also frustrating. From what Billie saw in the household, the Thompsons were decent enough for nobles. They paid good money, servants were not mistreated and with no sons in the household, the question of harassment wasn’t one that came up. The guards were guests and as such involvement with them was more voluntary.

“I tell you, Sarah, it is more than a fling.” Anne assured her fellow maid.

“Says he.” After two weeks, Billie reacted to her assumed name naturally.

“He does.” Anne’s voice was dreamy. She really had it bad for Lucien, one of the new guards in place to keep the Thompson family safe. “And I believe him. We will visit his sister the next time he is off duty.”

“And his parents?” Billie was not one to be easily impressed.

“Both dead. He does have a grandmother who normally lives with his sister, but they saved up to send her to the sea for summer, a real sanatorium.” It was clear that Anne was a total goner, and either Lucien knew how to play her or was he genuine. Billie wondered why she was so cynical about it.

When she relayed her information to Vinc, she mentioned Lucien. She didn’t know why. But anybody with a potential weakness, be it just a maid, could be exploited. Billie also had the logarithm which calculated the random guard shifts, Jenna Thompson’s list of current crushes, and a soap cast for the key to the study.

“Good work.” Vinc thought for a moment. “I’ll let you know if that guard yields a new angle. More stuff like that we could exploit would be good.”

Billie got the hint. More gossiping with her colleagues. It made her uneasy because she only had that much of a back story and did not want to expose herself with contradicting stories. Still, it worked like a charm. Opening up with a sob story gave her tragic stories and secrets in return. It was like currency.

Sorting the information hidden in those stories took a little more effort. A sick mother in the Distillery District was one thing; knowing that the painkillers on the cabinet kept disappearing was another. Once you knew who knew who and cared about who or what, there household turned into a huge connect-the-dots picture.

Lucien turned out to have only one sister and an actually sick grandmothers at the sea side. Billie was surprised but it was nice to know that some people were actually genuinely nice. And Anne would be a convenient distraction for Lucien on the evening Daud would pay the Thompsons a visit. Billie was not quite certain if he was coming for the father or the daughter. She did not want to know. Both had been nice enough.

But that was none of her business. Lucien on the other hand… He was a perfect target. Big households were like machines. Once you understood how they worked, they could be tweaked. The same was true for people. Added up, it was a most complex mechanism. Billie started prodding it very carefully.

Billie assessed who got along how well with who, where the rivalries lay and who hated who. The second part was more difficult. Everybody had their own aspirations. Their worlds looked very different and things worked differently for each of them. She had to work all angles.

Lucien was an unwitting helper. His reputation made him attractive to more women than just Anne. Envy was helpful. Jealousy was helpful. Wishing to separate the two physically was more than helpful if it was the head maid’s desire. A few tweaks to the shift schedule was all it took. Billie watched the two lovers sink into sadness, their time together painfully curbed.

Then all it took was one ally and Billie’s helpful mediating to get one crucial shift switched. Billie signalled green light to the Whalers, exhilarated by her own success. She had created a safe route into the villa. She had gotten the keys, information and now she even removed a guard from his post.

Of course Lucien had to put up a token resistance. The conscientious character her displayed would not leave his post for a dalliance. But Billie had that covered as well.

“I cannot leave my post,” Lucien argued as expected. “It is my duty to protect Jenna Thompson, with my life if necessary.”

“You’re out on the balcony, are you not?” She asked Lucien. “Maybe if I just pretend to be you?”

“You’re much too small,” Anne objected. “Nobody would believe it.”

“Nobody will get close, will they?” Billie looked at Lucien. “You’re alone on that post. And if anything happens, I’ll just shoot the air and everybody will know something is up. You will also have time to come back.”

It was a stupid plan. But she was dealing with stupid people. If nothing happened, as it had done the last nights, nobody would notice a thing. And as humans were want to do, they were tempted to just trust that nothing would happen once more. How could they know? And it would keep Lucien alive which was more than the backup plans had to offer.

Of course, Billie had a plan B. The result would be pretty much the same. Anne amusing herself somewhere but Lucien unconscious at Billie’s feet. Better safe than sorry. If he woke, she needed to be able to act fast and knock him out again. It was what Vinc drilled into them. She smiled at the undecided couple. “It’s your call, of course. But I did see the roosters for the next month and it doesn’t get any better.”

Lucien took Anne’s hand. “I do not know, love,” he said. “How can I justify abandoning my duty? But how can I live knowing we will not have a moment between ourselves in weeks?”

“What if Sarah is found out?” Anne worried.

“I’ll say it was a bet,” Billie said. “That I bet with Lucien that nobody would notice because he’s such a bad guard. And he went along because of course somebody would notice.”

Anne still looked unhappy. “I don’t want you to get into trouble on my behalf.”

“That’s what friends are for, Anne,” Billie reminded the other woman. If she had to keep this up much longer, she’d scream.

“You can make it up to her, love,” Lucien said to Anne. “Sarah will just think of something. She has time tonight. Won’t you?” He added in Billie’s direction.

“I sure will.” She smiled broadly. “You just take a break together. The tension in this house could snap a log.”

They made their minds up finally, happy and guilty at the same time.

“Thank you Sarah,” Lucien said gravely.

“I’ll bring you the coat and-” Anne blushed.

“Boots and belts should be fine,” Billie assured her. “If I close the coat, shirt and trousers shouldn’t matter.”

“Right.” Anne’s head bobbed up and down. Then Lucien led her away.

Billie let out a long breath. A few minutes later she dressed up in Lucien’s gear, left for her post on a side balcony and signalled the all clear to the Whalers. They slid over the rooftops in silence. Three of them slipped into the villa past her followed by Daud.

Deep satisfaction filled Billie when each of them acknowledged her with a nod. Billie waited for taut minutes. No sound came from inside the house, nothing seemed to move. Even the air on the balcony was completely still. Finally the Whalers returned one by one and melted back into the night.

Daud looked at her for a second. “Make sure the guard is also eliminated,” he instructed her. “In his full gear.”

“Will do.” Billie nodded, pulling her thoughts back from following Daud. She would stay and finish the job as demanded. A grimace wandered across her face. This was not what she had had in mind. Lucien would most likely kept his mouth shut abut his little tête-à-tête with Anne. His job and reputation depended on it.

But better safe than sorry. Dead men could not talk. And she had gotten the order directly from Daud. Directly. From the boss himself. Something inside her began to glow. She was a Whaler, a real Whaler, and this was a job. Her job.

She took a deep breath. Her first real job. Billie was shaking with excitement. Lucien was an unfortunate target but death came for everyone. He also trusted her which would make things easier. Looking around the balcony, Billie began to plan.

The night seeped by slowly. Unrest crept up Billie’s legs. If Lucien dallied until dawn she had a problem. The soles of her feet itched but she couldn’t leave her post, his post. Finally, the couple returned. Lucien looked realxed. Anne looked flustered and slightly jumpy. It took a lot of convincing to get her to leave.

But in the end, Anne understood that it was much less suspicious if she left on her own and then some time later Billie. And Lucien needed his things back, too. The two parted with a kiss that lingered way too long for Billie’s patience.

“The place was quiet as could be,” she said as she peeled out of the coat and returned it.

“That’s good to know. Anything special to mention that was nothing to worry about?” Lucien held out his hand for the rest of his gear.

“Nothing comes to mind.” Billie watched as he conscientiously adjusted his collar and lapels. “Well, maybe one thing, but,” she looked around furtively, taking a step closer to him. “Maybe your commanding officer is supposed to walk around without,” she hedged, gesticulating a little to draw her knife without him noticing and finally stood on tiptoe to whisper into Lucien’s ear.

“I am sorry.” Her knife came up, whipping through his throat. He didn’t have time to scream.

Sidestepping the gushing blood, Billie plucked his pistol from its holster. Since there was no reason to stick around, she did not. Her maid’s uniform had little space to accommodate extra items, so she hid the weapon away safely. Then she returned into the house.

A scream ripped her from her sleep not much later. The house was in uproar after the murders. Lucien was the obvious culprit for letting the assassins in. If that hadn’t cost him his life, the rest of it would have been short and painful.

Anne was bewailing the loss such a good man and did not mean Mr Thompson. Billie offered condolences and what little consolation her shoulder could. With Rose dead as well, there was suddenly nobody left to guard. Half the household was obsolete and the lay-offs began.

Since Billie was one of the last to be hired, she was one of the first to leave. She cried a few dutiful tears in Anne’s arms and promised to write once she reached her brother somewhere in the country. Then she grabbed her bag, now heavier by one excellent pistol and returned home.

Nothing much had changed. He place next to the wall was unoccupied, stew was simmering in the kitchen, Dhri was patiently grooming what might pass for a couple of fallen lashes. There was a general commendation for everybody involved with the job from Daud. That was it. No special praise for a single member.

Billie gritted her teeth and moved on. She would have to be better to earn recognition. So she would. One step was picking up shooting practice. She would be the best at everything.

 

* * *

  

Months passed. Billie had taken up regular information runs through the city. Her bits and pieces would not get an assassination done yet, but it was a start. She would broker what little she had for pieces of a bigger picture until she knew enough to get double the worth from each bit of information she got. Connecting the dots, that was the secret.

On the other hand, eyes watching her turned hostile. She was rising too fast, learning too much. Her thirst to excel threatened the balances of power. So she took her training with two knives into a secluded spot. It would pay to have a surprise or two up her sleeve in case somebody decided to end her career.

That was something that became more difficult with each passing day. Billie had taken up shooting practice as soon as she returned from the Thompson job. She still did not like their noisy imprecision. But Daud never took anybody on his jobs who could not handle a gun. That was reason enough.

She was getting better. The recoil was throwing her off at first. There were modifications to decrease it. Billie considered them. Modding guns professionally was expensive, so she just stole the guns off the next victims and started tinkering herself. Only one of the weapons had exploded in her face so far.

The space at the wall became cramped. She amassed more belongings than she had ever before. Tools, boxes with parts, gadgets and stuff to exchange for information or more useful things. She acquired a small cabinet and explored the joys of order.

The back of her mind was always spinning, always turning over information and analysing the Whalers. She was a part of them now, but not where she wanted to be. Two questions occupied her the most. Firstly, what did you have to do to become a Master? And secondly, what did you have to do to receive a share of the magic?

Jorij told her she worried to much. He had joined a year before her and did not miss the magic at all. Creepy, he called it. Too little gain for such a high price. Billie hadn’t thought him a believer, but it was obviously enough religion in him to make him fear for his soul.

Nebiat snorted, telling her to stop putting her nose into the bosses business. He decided. It was his prerogative not to tell on what grounds. Being nosy was not the best approach. But Nebiat already had her share of magic. And like everybody else who did, she was close-lipped about it. What it had felt like to gain it, how it felt to use it.

Billie couldn’t stop thinking about it. That first flash of magic in the dark haunted her dreams still. What would it be like? Dissolving into smoke and shards only to reappear whole and ready in a different place. Knives drawn, muscles taut, the kill just a blink away. She took a deep breath. Patience. She would get there.

Raising her knives again, Billie started up the routine Vinc had shown her. It was short and deceptively simple. It gave you horribly sore muscles. She had seen Vinc do it and they looked like liquid when they had showed her, the knives snapping out like snake heads.

Billie had been working on this for weeks now and the knives had stopped flying across the room at least. But it was a difficult balance between force and – Billie stopped short. Maybe it was not. She weighed a knife in her hand, looking at the wall thoughtfully. Who had said the knives were not meant to leave her grip at some point? All she needed were some targets.

She sheathed the blades and went through a few exercises to allow her muscles to cool down. When she turned to the door, Billie found Daud leaning against its frame. She tried to stand up to parade rest as much as she could without being obvious about it. “Sir?”

“Your skills are improving quite fast.” He straightened. “So. Show me how you killed him,” Daud demanded. He did not have to clarify. The only killing he had no details about was that of Radanis Abele.

Billie swallowed. “He was, well.” Her voice fell flat. Despite herself, Billie had to close her eyes for a moment, running the back of her hand over them. “She was dead,” she finally continued. “Deirdre. She was already dead. He had hurt her, split her skull with his cane and she was dead.” Billie took a deep breath.

She didn't want to do this. It hurt. She did not want to hurt. But Daud had asked. When did he ever ask for anything? How could she even consider disappointing Daud? She wanted to slap herself. Not that it would help. She gauged the distance to Daud and repositioned herself.

“We had gotten in his way, when he left the carriage with his brother.” She gesticulated to where the imaginary carriage was standing. “It was nothing. But he killed her anyway. I was mad. Blind with rage. I only saw that smug grin on his face, the malice in those eyes.”

Daud raised a brow but said nothing.

Billie shook herself. “I -, there were gazelles on the carriage, wooden decoration, useless things, really. But they had those long horns going on for forever. I don’t know how I managed to get to one.” She indicated the height of the carriage and approximate position of the gazelle ornaments. She must have jumped, probably broken it of with her weight on the way down.

“I snapped it off and-,” Her hands wavered. It was difficult to concentrate. Still she mimicked her most likely path. She had to stand on tiptoe to recreate the downward angel of the assault. It was still not quite right.

Daud stood unmoved by her demonstration, allowing the sheathed knife impossibly close to his face. The face of Radanis tried to reclaim the space, sneering as he had done that day. Billie wanted to die, to kill him, wanted the merging images in her mind gone, obliterated as she had wanted Abele obliterated.

Biting her lip until it bled, Billie focussed on the physical pain, speaking very slowly around the unspilt blood and caught breath. “I wanted him dead so bad. I just, went for him, the gazelle raised like a weapon. I don’t know why. I had a knife. I was not thinking. But it worked. I hit his eyes dead centre and drove wood in all the way.”

Daud reached for the knife hovering before his eye and gently pried it from her white-knuckled grip.

“There wasn’t much blood at first,” Billie went one as if in trance. “Just a little seeping out around the head of the gazelle. His brother was like a statue. It save me. He could have killed me easily. He did not. But I had killed Radanis. He was dead and I was glad. Then I ran. I didn’t stop until,” she hesitated, “until I arrived here.”

“Why did you not kill again?” Daud tiled his head, watching her closely.

“I did not know who,” Billie admitted.

There it was again, that twitch in the corner of his mouth. This time it was definitely a smile almost suppressed. Daud put the knife back into her hand. “We can work on that.”

Billie watched him leave. She felt tired and drained. At the same time she was exhilarated. Daud had asked her, taken time out of his day for her. She was on the right track. One day, she would be the best of them all. Her fingers closed around the grip of the knife.


	3. Heathens

Billie felt as if she had been waiting for this moment for forever. She was about to become a ‘real’ Whaler, an assassin of the highest quality Dunwall had to offer; a bearer, a wielder of black magic.

It was hard not to fidget. Black Magic had a bad reputation. And nobody talked about the ritual involved. Once you committed, there was no turning back. You kept your mouth shut about it until the day you died. There was no other way to leave the Whalers. You went feet first – one way, or another.

The turnover was higher than Billie had expected, Jorij had barely escaped death. Now he walked around on crutched for the rest of his life. He was still a Whaler, but he would always be support. At least he had a job. The Whaler took care of their own.

Vince had died on a mission; Dhri had taken his place and Nebiat in turn had taken to overseeing the first floor. Jin had lost their little finger and acquired a spectacular scar across their face. They had been in recuperation for weeks. Being a Whaler was not without risk, the gear was not armour.

The top level of the headquarters was deserted. Usually there were Masters lingering around somewhere. Right now, Billie was all alone. She clasped he hands behind her back and tried to radiate calm. It did not matter that she didn’t feel it. Nobody could look inside her head.

The wait drew long. She could hear the first raindrops splatter on the roof when the door to Daud’s office finally opened.

“What has happened to you just entering?” He asked.

“I thought it wise not to this time,” Billie replied. “I didn’t want to disturb any possible preparations.”

“Don’t want to watch the human sacrifice preceding this?”

Billie was not certain he was joking. “I will, if it’s required.”

Daud snorted and waved her into his rooms. “Nothing that gruesome. This is your last chance to back out.”

“Understood, sir.” Billie wondered if it was a trap. There was no way she could just leave the Whalers now. Black magic or no, she knew too much about the group; hideouts, operation protocols, names, faces and where poof of their actions may be found. She was a dangerous loose end, too dangerous. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather stick around.”

“Your choice.” He leant against his desk, measuring her. “After tonight you will be able to Transverse like the others. Maybe some other tricks will manifest. You never know.”

She nodded. It was important to stay calm. The image of Daud dissolving into the night when she first saw him burned in the mind. That would be her. Finally. “What must I do?”

“Eager as ever,” Daud snorted.

“I know what I want,” Billie said.

“Give me your hand.”

Billie obeyed without thinking. Daud turned it over his grip scrutinizing the calluses on her palm. “Working ambidextrous, I hear.”

“Just keeping my options open,” Billie replied. “Disabling one arm won’t stop me.”

“You get messy when reduced to working with your left,” Daud challenged.

“Messy, yes,” Billie conceded. “But still successful.”

There was a sharp pain in her right. Billie was proud for not retracting it immediately. But the moment, Daud released her hand, she examined it closely.

“There will be no visible mark,” Daud said. “But it will help to focus on where you want to transverse.”

Billie looked at him for a moment, then to the top of a bookshelf across the room. Unthinking, she pulled herself onto its top right corner. The world swirled by, leaving her slightly heady.

“Billie Lurk.” Daud admonished.

Taking in her new position, she returned to stand before him in another rush of colour and ozone. But she miscalculated. Transversing took a lot out of you. She ended up crouching. Still, she grinned up at him like a maniac. “Yes, sir?”

“Stop that.”

“Yes, sir.” She straightened and nodded at him. “I will go and practice somewhere else.”

“Take that.” He threw her a vial filled with a blue liquid. “You will need to get your own from now on.”

Billie bopped up and down once more before transversing deep into the corridor. The heady feeling as she bypassed the laws of physics was intoxicating. She giggled in the darkness and assessed how much the transversal had drained her. She needed to get a grip of those dynamics as soon as possible.

She examined the vial Daud had given her. It contained a blue liquid that seemed to be glowing in the dark. She would talk to Dhri about this, he had been using black magic longer than she had. Billie looked around. The headquarters were suddenly small and cramped. She needed to get out, get into the streets of Dunwall and see what she could do now. The possibilities beckoned.

Rain scattered on her hood, running down her coat in thick rivulets. The city was shining in wet reflections and Billie felt almost transparent. Transversing was a miracle. It was exhausting and the reach was limited. But it allowed access to the all places in Dunwall. The city was hers.

Billie crouched on the highest point of Kaldwin Bridge. The city fanned out under her like a game board. Light reflected in the pools on the streets. Now and then somebody rushed through the downpour, collar turned up, face turned down. She was an invisible god. Any of them could fall to her blade any time.

Her eyes followed down the Wrenhaven towards the sea. It lay beyond the city in a black void, the occasional boats unable to light it up. Billie’s gaze didn’t linger. The city was more promising. She would not leave, not now, maybe never. That was alright. She was an assassin now, a part of the elite. Even Daud had started to notice her achievements.

So did the other Whalers; with mixed feelings. Rank was granted due to competence. It was not her fault that some of the older members mixed that up with age. So Billie made sure to help the newcomers. Orientation, being approachable for questions. It was tedious, but it slowly gained her a faction within the Whalers.

Of course, not all of them made it. But that was alright. Enough survived. And there were losses among the older Whalers as well. In the long run, she would win out. She would not only be the best assassin Daud had ever seen, she would also be the one with the best standing in the group, with the most support, the best plans due to best intel.

Billie returned to the headquarters still smiling. The exertion was taking its toll, though. She gladly sat down with Dhri, to show him the blue liquid.

“Ah, Spiritual Remedy,” he said. “It restores the energy you lose when you use your special abilities.”

“Doesn’t it come back on its own?” Billie turned the vial over in her hands. It was another thing about many Whalers. They didn’t call what they did magic, much less black magic. Special abilities indeed. Why did it bother them where their power came from?

“That takes time,” Dhri explained. “On a mission you don’t always have that time. You’ll see. Better keep it on you at all times.”

Billie nodded. “Where do I get more?”

“Chemists, black markets.” Dhri shrugged. “It’s not really main market stuff and expensive.”

“Got it.” She would put her contacts to it. Acquiring a sizeable stock without anybody knowing seemed like a good plan. Then she’d have to test how it worked, how fast and if there were side effects. The things nobody told you about...

 

* * *

 

It was still magic. Billie Lurk knew the skills behind Daud's assassinations now, shared in some of them, but it was still magic. A single body slipped from her hands while his knife sliced trough three of them in on swift motion. It was precise. It was neat. It was faster than light and ultimately deadly.

For a moment she glanced at the corpse at her feet. No time for that. Power swept through her like the first draught of whisky on an empty stomach. The alley flew past as she followed Daud. The sheer exhilaration of moving faster than possible was still filling her with joy. She wanted to scream out to the world. Something detrimental to a quiet assassination. So she did not. Billie blinked onto the nearest balcony, keeping their flank secure.

The Whalers arrived at Pendleton Manor in silence. It was one of the biggest mansions in Dunwall. The Pendletons had acquired wealth left and right. Acquired was a very benevolent term for what they were doing. But it ran in the family.

Billie remembered her time in Thompson Manor. They had been working for the Pendletons then. They were doing so again now, but in a very different way. The callousness of people should stop surprising her. It didn’t.

With the help they received, the job itself was easy. They had keys. They had guard routines. They had plans of the whole mansion including secret passages. It made Daud suspicious. The Pendleton twins were knows as bastards. It might still be just an elaborate trap. Billie looked into the courtyard from the position on the roof.

She could feel the others move around her. Maybe it was part of the gift. Maybe it was special, but she had developed a feeling for those also sharing Daud’s mark in close vicinity. It was very useful, not just on missions.

Billie felt the call pulling her into the house a second before her body followed it, obediently de-materialising. It was another trait of the shared gifts. Daud had the power to call on any of them any time he liked. And they would obey. He had that power over them.

She blinked into the brightly lit office, orienting herself quickly. A dead body was stretched out on the floor. She felt the pulsing of an alarm more than she heard it.

“A trap after all,” Daud said. His blade was wiped clean again already. “Guess they want to kill two birds with one stone.”

“They won’t,” Billie replied.

“Indeed they won’t,” Daud agreed. “Lure the guards away. I will take the body. We might have an ally inside the family to make it look as if the old man was still alive for a while.”

“Understood.” Billie was not all sure what ally Daud was talking about or why anybody would want the illusion of Lord Pendleton being alive. That’s why he was the boss. But she understood about luring people away. It was a delicate skill. The pursuer had to believe they could catch up. With transversal that was an illusion, naturally. But this illusion had to be maintained carefully.

She crouched in the corridor waiting for the first guards to round the corner. When they did, she took off. Not towards the balcony where she could easily have jumped across the street, vanishing across the next building. That would have been logical and easy. But it wasn’t her job.

Instead she blinked across the atrium, making a show of entangling herself in a house-plant. It gave the guards enough time to round the open space and pick up their pursuit. That should leave Daud enough space to leave unseen with the dead body. Billie smiled and blinked down the corridor, and after some time out into the night.

The guards were persistent. They kept chasing her until she tired of the game. Bridging the space across a street and to the top of a four storey building she shook their pursuit in one movement. Billie took pleasure in watching their confused search of the street. She laughed to herself as the transversed away, leaving them nothing but her inaudible mocking.

“So are we going to retaliate?” she asked Jin after they had gathered in their headquarters again.

“Not that I know,” Jin replied. “Boss has his own morals.”

That was true. But Daud was not forthcoming with what he had planned next. Double-crossing him usually ended with death. Billie was already making up scenarios for that. It would be fun. Twins, a double execution. She hummed to herself, honing the edges of her blades to perfection.

The call to kill didn’t come that night. It didn’t come the following night either, or any of the next two weeks. Billie was on edge, but she seemed to be the only one. Something was going on that didn’t normally happen. She needed to know and there was only one person who could tell her.

Billie prepared a few speeches knowing full well she wouldn’t be able to use any of them. But it felt good have done something in advance. _Just stay calm,_ she told herself. _He knows you’re good. He’s said so. You’re on most missions nowadays also tricky information gathering and risky undercover ops. You’ve got this._

As much as any subordinate ever had poking their nose into their bosses affairs. But it was just a question. He could refuse to answer and that would be that. She took a deep breath. She had this under control if only she had herself under control. And she did. Daud's presence should do nothing to change that. Should, being the relevant word here.

“Lurk,” Daud beckoned her into his office.

“Sir.” Billie tried to come to a stop in parade rest naturally, which worked only so well. “I have a question.”

“I’m not surprised.” He leant against his desk.

Was he ever? Billie reigned in her thoughts. “It’s about the Pendleton job a few weeks back.”

“Took you long enough to come then.” Daud crossed his arms. “Scared?”

Billie stuck out her chin. “Just not sure if you were doing something about it. It’s not my job-”

“True,” he interrupted her. “So what are you doing here?”

_Calm_ , Billie told herself. He’s just pushing your buttons because he can. And because he wants to know what you will do. “I want to understand,” she finally said.

“Why?” Daud picked up a cigar and lit it.

It was a good question. Billie was careful wording her reply to it. “Because when I understand, I am more efficient,” She finally explained. “I waste energy staying prepared for a strike that never comes. The conclusions I draw from the intel we gather are skewed.”

Daud did not react.

“It feels wrong to have a pattern broken without reason,” she admitted. “Something is off. The others may not feel it or chose to ignore it, but it is there. Something is up with the Pendletons. I don’t know what it is and I don’t like it.”

“Is that all?” He exhaled smoke, watching her closely.

“That was all, sir.” Billie turned to leave.

“What did you expect to happen,” Daud asked her, “and what reason could there be for it not to?”

Billie froze. She closed her eyes to concentrate for a second before facing him again. “Past interactions clearly show that anybody double-crossing you ends up dead. The Pendleton twins did not. We fulfilled their contract on their father. They set us up. They should be dead.”

Daud nodded at her to continue.

“They poisoned their mother and claimed it was grief, but we do not do slow poisonings, so that can’t be it.” Billie paused to think. “The Pendletons are now the single most influential family in Dunwall right after the Boyles. They want to keep it that way.” Her face lit up.

“The Pendletons are also the richest of families now. They can pay better for having competitors removed than those can pay to have them killed. The jobs go to us.” Now she was grinning. “And murder doesn’t become time-barred.”

“I’ve got one last question for you, Billie Lurk.” Daud pulled on his cigar again. “Why has it taken you two weeks to arrive at this conclusion?”

Billie narrowed her eyes. There was a flood of replies crowding behind her closed lips. He was the boss. The Whalers did as told. Nobody questioned him. It was how it had always been. She was in no position to – her thoughts ground to a halt. Billie nodded to herself.

“You’re the boss,” she told him. “I trust that you know what you are doing, but so far I always understood it. It is not our place to question you. It would lead to chaos. This is my home, I am invested in how well we do. I want to be certain I got things right.”

She suppressed the urge to fidget. This was not the time or place. She had to follow this through. “I didn’t think it was my place to follow up, but nobody even seemed to think about it. It felt irresponsible to have no safeguard.”

“Feeling responsible is only half of the game,” Daud replied. “You need to be able to back it up with deeds, Lurk.”

“I will do better next time, sir,” Billie assured him. “You won’t even notice I checked on you.”

“Good.” His lip quirked up in a smile. “You’re too valuable to waste. Learn how to play this game.”

“Understood.” That might have been a bit of a lie but she knew better than to push her luck. If the way to being his second in command was acting like his second in command, Billie could sure do that.

 

* * *

 

“You called for me, sir?” Billie bounced on the balls of her feet. One-on-one talks with Daud usually meant a job. A good one, a special one. She was more than ready. After two weeks of gathering intel and only a few, boring skirmishes, she ached for something real. Something that required not only her full attention but also all of her abilities.

“Lurk,” Daud acknowledged. “I have a job.”

“I knew it!” Billie grinned. “What is it, sir?”

“Eager as ever.” He shook his head but Billie knew she was good. Daud knew his Whalers. They all had their reasons to be part of his group but only a few were driven as she was. Jin was whenever something involved cutting things into very small strips. That new guy, Thomas also had it. But people like Dhri, they did what they did but there was no enthusiasm to it.

“Every day is an adventure,” Billie replied. “And flitting through the city too fast to be seen never loses its thrill. You should know.”

He smiled. Daud knew, alright. You felt powerful. Nothing was beyond you. Mere mortals could only hope not to be in your way. Then he handed her a red envelope.

Billie took it carefully. She had seen those envelopes before. They flooded Dunwall’s high society once a year, causing an éclat simply by not going to all of them. It was a time they got many inquiries. Only a few of those were followed through, though.

“The Masquerade at the Boyle Mansion.” It was a question.

Daud nodded. “Lady Boyle wants a scandal, a fashionable one.”

Billie chuckled. “A guest daring to dress up as an infamous Whaler? Any of us can do that, sir.”

She bit her tongue a second later. Maybe it had been meant as a gift, a chance to attend one of those luxurious entertainments that were but backdrops to their work. What a strange idea. It had been a very long time since Billie had entertained such fantasies.

“I want my best agent on it,” Daud replied. “You will get more information out of the guests than anybody else. No use squandering a perfect opportunity.” His smiled turned feral.

“On it.” Billie stared bouncing on the balls of her feet again. A little poking of her network and she would know who was under each mask before she even set foot into the mansion. This would be fun. “Anything special you are looking for?”

“No, but there’s an actual job attached. A man named Daniel Garrow will attend. His advances on the Lady Boyle have not been well received but he refuses to cease.”

“Which Lady Boyle?” Billie asked.

“Does it matter?” Daud asked back.

“Point taken.” Billie inclined her head. “Did she have specifics how she wants him dealt with?”

“I think her words were: permanently, embarrassingly and not necessarily dead,” Daud replied.

“A fate worse than death? Coming right up.” She grinned. “I will make sure that it cannot be connected to the mysterious Whaler hanging around the party.”

“I count on that.” Daud pulled out a cigar, a sign that the conversation was about over. “That’s why you’re on the job, Lurk.”

“Understood and appreciated.” Praise from Daud still made her glow inside like a supernova. She was racking up quite the collection, too. “Anybody else on this?”

“The usual agents will be in the area,” he said and lit his cigar. “Nothing you must trouble yourself with.”

So he had his own spies and they would not take a day off just because Billie Lurk was about to wreak very fashionable havoc. It would be interesting to see if she could figure out who his agents were. But that was a secondary objective. The first was to have devilish fun at the masked ball and instigate the social suicide of a man called Garrow.

“If that is all sir?”

“Bounce off.” Daud indicated the door with his head, reaching for his lighter.

Billie escaped before the smoke had a chance to choke her. She had tried smoking, of course she had. But so far it hadn’t shown its appeal. Breathing in peat was not her idea of fun.

But everything else was. She was good, almost the best and Daud had certainly noticed. A grin burned on her face. His best agent infiltrating the Boyle masquerade. That was her. She transversed into the night, chasing shadows across rooftops until her mana reserves ran dry.

She stopped on the edge of the city wall, looking at Dunwall. It was her city now. There was no secret she could not unearth. Starting right now. Billie dropped in at a couple of her contacts, giving additional orders. She needed cloth sales, tailor assignments, sneaky transports of possibly bulky objects to noble houses. It would be a piece of cake.

By the end of the two weeks, Billie had a complete list of almost all attendants of the ball and their costumes. The wild cards were mostly foreign dignitaries that arrived with their costumes already finished. She had some of those down still.

The last thing to do was polish up her own gear. It had to look more like what people expected a Whaler to be than what they actually were. Billie added another pistol, visible knives, and a bulky crossbow to her actual gear. An assortment of vials with colourful content but no use whatsoever covered her belts. Her real stash of elixir and remedy went under the heavy cloak, well protected from eyes and actions.

It felt very strange to hire a coach to get to her destination. But it was well worth it. The moment Billie stepped out of the carriage, heads turned and whispers flew. She smiled under her mask. The masquerade was already in full swing. Billie had made a point of arriving at a time when almost everybody could watch her swashbuckling onto the scene.

So swashbuckle, she did, signing the guest book with a grand gesture. It was even legible, saying ‘your friendly neighbourhood Whaler’ for anybody interested. Billie threw open the doors and entered. Only to have Daud be the first thing she spotted. He was not in his usual garb, naturally. The costume covered all his face, as well, but one turn of his head, and Billie knew who he was.

Under her mask, she was roaring with laughter. Daud dressed up as an Overseer. The irony was too delicious to go to waste. And it made very clear who his best agent was. Billie chuckled about her own delusions.

But it was perfect. Their costumes lent themselves to a nice dynamic they could exploit throughout the evening. All other guest would consider it part of the entertainment. Billie threw a mock salute at Daud, then she blended into the guests. It was easy to locate Daniel Garrow. He was wearing a peacock costume, the coat shining in changing colours, feathers rising in a high collar around his head.

Billie watched him for a while, making a circuit around the room. She had enough intel on him to set his knickers on fire in public. If only she knew which Lady Boyle had paid for his termination, Billie could have tailored her execution to the tastes of the lady. No such luck, though. Garrow had to take whatever she came up with.

The Ladies Boyle always wore costumes that related to one another in some way. Sometimes they were exactly the same except for the colour, sometimes they were a group like big cats. This year was no exception. Three figures in perfectly tailored suits of gold, silver, and mother of pearl were the centre of attention. Billie hadn’t bothered trying to find out who was who. For her mission it was secondary. And Daud was also attending. If it was important, he’d find out.

The other guests wore costumes of varying splendour. Animals and fantasy creatures mingled with elaborate suits and dresses. Most masks covered the whole face; only some of them were still colombinas. One guest had made a point of this though and was wearing a traditional domino harelquin with it.

Almost the whole lower level had been prepared for the masquerade. A wall of light separated the private rooms of the Ladies Boyle from the public space. It was easy enough to avoid. Billie transversed onto the balconies from dark corners and back to see how much work that would be. None, she decided. All she had to do was wait for a guest to see her before returning to the masquerade proper.

Billie had a long look at the buffet. It was a culinary dream and she needed to find a way to eat somewhere in private. Preferably after she had done her job, just in case Daud objected. She picked up a glass of wine and began to make rounds. Talking to the guests was amusing. The Pendleton twins were as yet behaving themselves and of everybody assembled they were the most wary about chatting with a stranger.

They also did not dance. Billie enjoyed asking anybody for a dance, men or women, causing speculation about her identity to sky-rocket. She danced with Garrow, who kept making rather heavy handed attempts to find out who she was.

“Maybe I’ll tell you later,” Billie teased him as their dance ended. “In private.”

That got his imagination. Good. Time to concentrate on some heavy lifting before taking him down. Her collection of enlightening chit-chat was acceptable. If the party went south now because she took out Garrow, those results were acceptable. Though she would really like to take another crack at Timsh. He was a close-lipped one. Later, Billie told herself, putting her eyes on a different prize.

“My Lady Boyle,” she bowed deeply before the golden figure. “How about a dance with your guest of dishonour?”

“Who do you think you are?”

“Oh, I know who I am,” Billie replied, offering her arm,. “And I know who you are. Which only leaves one question: who do you think I am?”

“Somebody who possesses too much insolence by far,” Lady Boyle replied in a huff, gesturing Billie to let her pass.

“As you wish.” Billie stepped back with a deep bow. “You know that your wish is my command.”

Billie watched her vanish in the crowd. That could have gone better. But if the Lady refuse to mingle, it could mean that she knew the person behind the mask was neither noble nor important in Dunwall.

She returned to mingling and dancing, keeping an eye on Garrow. When he headed to the buffet, she made sure to be waiting for him there. As expected, he walked right up to her. She was the talk of the evening and he had an invitation outstanding. Some men were pitifully simple. Not even worth a chase.

“I see you are amusing yourself,” Garrow said.

“As best as I can.” Billie implied a shrug.

“I am sure I can help with that,” he smiled winningly. “There are a few secluded spots I could show you.”

“So keen.” Billie chuckled. “Do you really believe Lady Boyle invited you to this event for your charming presence after what you did to her.”

Realisation dawned on Garrow’s face. He swallowed.

Billie lifted his chin with her thumb. A pity he couldn’t see her face right now; she was having the time of her life. “Of course there can’t be a body found during the party, can there now? But by all means, let’s go somewhere private.”

Garrow took a step backwards, awkwardly stabilising himself against a table. He glanced to the doors.

“Be my guest,” Billie suggested. “My friends out there will welcome you with open arms.”

He believed her. In his mind the mansion was surrounded by Whalers, he was definitely worth that much trouble. Ego was such a wonderful thing. Billie played with the hilt of one of the decorative knives.

Garrow stared at her fingers for a moment, then shook his head and bolted. The game had begun.

Billie chuckled as she chose a few treats. She had time, let him simmer a little. Garrow was easy to find. He kept to the thick of guests, never leaving the main hall. This would be so much fun. Gauging the distances, Billie transversed to his side. “Trying to stay alive, huh?” She was at the other side of the room, mock saluting him when Garrow got his bearings back and looked around.

He was not amused.

Billie grinned under her mask. She asked lady Garmond for a dance, her butterfly wings serving as excellent camouflage to watch Garrow unseen. Also, it gave her a few choice bits of information about Lord Garmond’s work practices concerning his assistants; young pretty, male assistants. Information like that was always worth something.

Looking for Garrow she found him hiding in a group of less wealthy guests, judging from their costumes. Knowing that they were indeed among the least important people to attend, helped. Garrow was starting to become a nuisance and few were willing to deal with it.

“So social decline is preferable to death?” Billie asked as she transversed through the room, stopping at his side just long enough to say those words. Keeping this up was a piece of cake. Billie allowed him a whole dance of reprieve at one point, brazenly waving at Garrow from the private balconies shortly after.

The man was easy to whittle down. A few more friendly threats and he was shaking, trying to look in all directions at once. Pathetic.

“Maybe an apology would help?” Billie vanished again before Garrow could even turn around. He did so anyway, searching the vicinity in the mad hope to see anybody.

The timing was perfect, though. A sliver-clad Lady Boyle entered the ballroom. Garrow rushed up to her, almost falling over himself to apologies profusely. When that didn’t get any results, he fell to his knees, begging.

“Who are you even?” The silver-clad Boyle asked.

Garrow pulled his mask of, a horrible faux-pas, and threw it to the ground next to his knees. “I beg you,” he started again, “please, Lady Boyle-”

She cut him off with a gesture and strode past his prostrate figure. The whole room was watching; it was as good a social suicide as Billie could have wished for. She grinned under her mask. And when Garrow had picked himself up from the floor and fled the judging glances to a corner, she struck again.

Picking the shaken figure up on a short stop she transversed up to the private quarters of the Boyles. Billie made sure he could steady himself on the nearest balustrade. Then she leant back and shook her head with a tsk.

“Wrong Lady Boyle, I would say. Maybe try again?”

Garrow looked around in a panic. “Where, how?”

“In the private quartets of the Ladies Boyle of course,” Billie told him. “What better place to express your sincere apology for being an asshat stalker?”

“They will have me killed!” Garrow wailed.

“As instead of what?” This was a little too much fun. “Have a Whaler set on your trail?”

He swallowed and looked around. There were guards. It was only a matter of time until they found them. The way down was long, He’s likely break something. There was always the Wall of light. And easy and final way out of his dilemma.

“I see you have a lot to think about,” Billie said. Then she left him standing with his jaw on the floor. The ballroom was calm as ever. Nobody had noticed her hounding of one poor Daniel Garrow and if, nobody cared. High society. It smacked of hypocrisy and selfishness.

“Enjoying the evening?” Daud had slipped up to her side, his Overseer disguise almost breaking out Billie’s reflexes. She did not try to kill him though.

“More than I expected.” She grinned. “I hope his spectacle is finding approval?”

“It does,” Daud replied. “Still, Lady Boyle has decided she’d rather have him dead than resenting her.”

“Not a problem,” Billie assured him. “I will keep any blood off the dance floor and the mansion in general.”

“I doubt that.” Daud vanished after pointing towards to the balconies.

Garrow was hanging from one, trying his best not to fall but also having no other way down. Billie chuckled to herself. Maybe not all blood. But no dead bodies at the party. She could guarantee that.

After some manoeuvring Garrow managed to get down to the ballroom floor again. He straightened and tried to ignore the stares lying on him. The guests gave him a wide berth, but he did not dare move out of sight. So he stood in deflated glory, trying to look nonchalant and failing.

Billie walked up to him, letting the whole room see her. This was important. “Maybe it is now time to leave,” she suggested, when she reached Garrow.

His eyes raced to the door and back, but he was afraid to move.

“I did not mean this party, but maybe Dunwall. Just to be safe?”

“Your friends-”

“I swear by the Outsider that none of my friends will bother you.” Billie almost laughed loud. “My dear Daniel, what are you choices? I am still here and hired...”

That did it. Garrow almost bolted. His progress to the doors was less than elegant and definitely betrayed the hurry he was in.

Billie shrugged and glanced around. She had time. There were three ships leaving Dunwall this night and she had tabs on all of them. Vie barrister Vance was looking a little bored. Something she could easily alleviate by a dance. She deserved a little more fun, did she not?

A few dances later, Billie left the masquerade unseen by any but Daud. It felt good to be back under the night sky, feeling the rush of wind tugging at her as she made her way across the rooftops. She stopped by at Garrow’s place but he had already left. The chaos he had left in his wake betrayed his hurry. Billie marked it down for later looting.

Dunwall lay under her like a carpet and her feet touched down only at a few points, like a child dancing on the cracks of the pavement. The harbour was almost quiet. The ships had been loaded for the coming tide, only a few were still worked on.

Billie transversed past the merchant vessels and trading ships, past the whaling boats that had once held her imagination. Further down the river lay other ships, boats that only ever saw the Wrenhaven. Hidden among them was the Undine. Billie made sure to approach the ship fully visible.

“So he your doing?” Lizzy Stride, the captain greeted her.

“You might say that,” Billie replied. “And I am afraid that no matter what he promised, he won’t be with you to see the end of the journey. I hope he paid in advance?”

“He did,” Lizzy said. “And had some bags that looked pretty heavy for their size.”

“Good for you,” Billie nodded. “Keep the change.”

“Will I need it to get my ship cleaned?” Lizzy leant against the rail.

“I’ll be tidy,” Billie promised. “He just went to sleep and you had no way of knowing he was dead until you decided you had to check in a day later or so.”

“Works for me.” The captain motioned her onto the ship.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” Billie said as she walked under deck.

There was not much space in the Undine and none if you planned to travel with some kind of amenities. But Daniel Garrow only wanted to travel fast. The Undine was the obvious choice, a smuggling vessel.

Billie found him huddled up in a cabin that had been created by putting up cargo around a small area. Garrow was clinging to his belongings, rocking himself back and forth. She transveresed behind him and chocked him unconscious until she throttled him. Dead and clean as could be. Billie checked her mental mission list.

She let Lizzy know that she had left and returned to the roof tops. The air smelled of salt even through the filters of her mask. There was still time to return to the masquerade and keep up the appearance that she had never left. Certainly nobody could get from the Boyle mansion to the river and back this fast.

Dunwall was a mosaic of light and dark alleys, spread out below her. Billie closed her eyes and inhaled deeply once more.

Forget about boats and whales and the high tide. The city was hers and so was everybody in it, except for one. She had the power. Life and death at her fingertips. This – this was it.

  



	4. Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Billie didn’t know if anything could ever compare to this job. Her heart raced along their rapid advance, pounding as if trying to break free. It was bright daylight. The sun streamed through the air like brush strokes when she transversed.

Their destination towered before them, the Royal Palace. They were going after the empress herself. Billie allowed her heart another flutter as she landed on the roof. They proceeded into the attic of the building, crossing unseen onto Palace grounds. Daud signalled them on. She opened the door to the next roof and slipped past her old man. The guard never heard her coming, he definitely had no chance to see her before her knife slipped through his ribs angling for the heart. Billie’s hand over his mouth kept his fall as quiet as her approach had been.

Daud transversed away to the higher roof via the tower. She followed with Thomas on her heels, overtaking Daud again. He was the key of the operations, she was the vanguard, clearing his path and keeping him safe. Billie exhilarated in transversing from merlon to merlon.

The gazebo came closer at high speed. Billie could make out several figures in it. Three, they had been briefed for two, but one more wouldn’t make a difference. Empress Jessamine was reading a letter, he daughter standing impatient at her side. The man in the dark uniform turned out to be the Royal Protector, Corvo Attano. Collateral, as far as Billie was concerned.

She rushed across the chasm and engaged, accompanied by Thomas, Veila, and Dhri. Attano raised his pistol, picking Dhri clean out of the air. Veila followed only a heartbeat later. He was good. But not good enough. Billie clenched her teeth, forcing herself to ignore Dhri’s dead body. Work first.

Thomas reached out for Attano keeping him suspended in mid-air, helpless. Then Daud reached them. He finished the job, killing the Empress and grabbing her daughter. Billie glanced at Thomas. He nodded his okay and they retreated, covering their tracks and keeping Daud's back clear.

It happened so fat, Billie wasn’t quite sure it had really happened. They regrouped on a concealed roof terrace. The child empress writhed in Daud’s grip.

“Keep her quite and get her to the client’s base.” Daud pushed the girl at Billie. “Don’t be seen.” He vanished a splatter of black.

Billie shrugged and gagged and blindfolded the girl. The Golden cat wasn’t far away. But the child didn’t have to know where it was taken. She tied her hands and feet, lugged the girl over her shoulder and transversed away with a last glance at Thomas. He’d keep her path clear in case of need. The task was done quickly. She detoured and looped on her way back to throw any pursuit. In general people knew better than to try and follow a Whaler, though.

Nobody liked venturing into the Flooded District either. Even if somebody had followed, Billie could easily have shaken or just them. She took a way past several colonies of River Krusts just to practice evasion. Then she checked that lookouts were all on post before walking into the hall like a normal person. The thought amused her for a moment.

Billie talked to Dhri and Thomas about the job. Getting their perspective was important for her report to Daud. He asked the strangest questions and being prepared paid. She also needed to know how they felt about their deed. It was not every day you killed an Empress, the ruler of your country. They might be criminals, but some Whalers lugged the strangest remnants of morals with them.

“It’s gonna be chaos now, “Dhri predicted. “Even if it is part of a planned coup, not everybody will fall in line. They never do.”

“Chaos means more jobs for us,” Thomas replied. His voice was a little uncertain.

“We could certainly use it,” Billie replied. “Maybe get a roof or two fixed.”

It was a running gag. Overall the place was not so bad, but Billie preferred a less carefully crafted dereliction. The place was supposed to look like a deserted ruin. It wasn’t necessary. All of Dunwall knew about the Whalers. Nobody dared move against them. The Empress had considered it, but a few choice warnings had put her off that idea. Not to mention fixing the Rat Plague was more important.

She made her way up to Daud’s office. There were Whalers on guard, some hidden, some pretending to hang out in the nearby archive. She could see the old man through the glass doors. His back was turned and her was looking at the map of Dunwall at the far wall. It would have another target’s face crossed out by now.

Billie took a moment to analyse her own feelings. She had helped assassinate the lawful ruler of Dunwall. No, not just Dunwall but the whole Empire. She looked for guilt and found none. Regret? None. Pride in a job well done? So far. That one could easily be changed by Daud's assessment of the situation.

He didn’t move when she opened one of the glass doors and approached. The face of Jessamine Kaldwin was indeed crossed out in red. Daud was staring at the image, deep in though.

“Sir?” Billie felt a formal approach was called for. Daud rarely got moods. When he did, he insisted more on protocol, proper procedure and distance. Better safe than sorry. She clasped her hands at the small of her back waiting for him to react.

Time trickled by. This was unusual even for Daud. Billie worried because he was not moving the slightest. No shifting of weight, no repositioning of a hand or even a finger. He might as well have been a statue. For a moment she wondered if she should return later.

But this was Daud, her boss, her friend if something like that was possible in their business. But definitely her teacher and mentor. She had a certain responsibility to him. And to the Whalers. She held on to that thought. The Whalers needed to keep running. If Daud wanted to take the rest of the day, hell the rest of the week off to stare or celebrate, he was welcome to that.

The Whalers would keep running. They were a well-oiled, finely tuned machine. But Billie needed orders for that. She didn’t care how she got them, but she needed them to act. She stared at the red coat before her. Or did she? As long s Daud was unmoveable, nobody would question her. It was a surprising realisation.

“Sir?” She tried again. “If there is nothing else, I will return to my duties. The Whalers will be at your command,” she added after another silent wait. Finally Billie decided to leave – for now.

“And what if there is something else?” Daud didn’t turn.

“Then I await your orders, sir.”

Finally he turned around. Though Daud looked in her direction, Billie was not sure he saw her. “My orders. That’s what I comes down to isn’t it? Orders and black magic; that’s how I held the Whalers together.” His eyes focussed again, looking at her. “How well will that work?”

“Very well, sir.” Billie was at a loss for words. “Nobody has questioned your authority or the mission. Nervousness has abated now that we succeeded without incidents. High spirits are subdued until you officially declare it a success.”

“Was it a success, Billie?” His question sounded serious.

“Yes, sir.” There was no other answer, was there? “The Empress is dead and her daughter in the hands of our contractor. Everything went according to plan. The unexpected presence of the Lord Protector did little to challenge us and nothing to change the outcome. We fulfilled the contract.”

“That we did.” Daud turned his back to her again, leaning on his desk. “Dismissed.”

Billie nodded though he could not see it and left his office. Daud had not declared their mission a success, but neither had he called it a failure. She was uncertain what to do. The Whalers expected a decision.

It would have to wait. She would come up with a palatable way to explain it, she always did. In the meantime the usual share of the spoils should keep everybody occupied. After settling that matter, Billie vanished back into the night. Daud would get his act back together. There was just no alternative.

He was the only one who knew the Outsider, who bore his mark and could share its gifts. There had been times when Billie had wanted nothing more than to see for herself. Enter the Void and see the wonders it held, the floating islands, scraps of reality, dazzling magic. Daud was close-lipped about the Void. He did not speak much about the Outsider either.

Billie had tried official records and sources to find out more. But history was written by the Overseers and they had their very own way of seeing the Outsider. He couldn’t be all bad. After all he did grant power if only to a few select. Daud had caught his eye. Maybe, one day, so would she. By now she was second only to one; it only made sense.

Tired from the rooftops, Billie decided to make her way back on foot, taking in the bustling city that had yet to hear of its horrible fate. The morning papers would be interesting to read. She stopped on Kaldwin bridge, looking into the dark water of the Wrenhaven for a while. What would be next? What could be next?

As assassins the Whalers had achieved everything they could. There was nothing that could beat killing an Empress. But there would still be jobs. Would they be worth it? Did it matter? It was what they did. She couldn’t imagine any other life.

 

* * *

 

Daud did not get his act together the following day or the following week. Billie had a lot of mediation to do so the Whalers stayed a somewhat orderly group. As expected not everybody fell in line behind Hiram Burrows as Lord Regent and protector of the young Emily Kaldwin. There were enough jobs to keep them well off for a while.

With each passing day, Billie wished more that Daud returned to his old self but he did not. He left the day-to-day dealings to her and whenever she went up to ask for more detailed instructions his answer was more or less: do as you please.

Billie was not sure what to make of it. But she knew what her duties were. So the Whalers stayed on course. Targets were eliminated and though Daud was barely involved, things went as usual. It was strange to have so many people rely on her. Billie looked at the numbers spread out before her: members, expenses, earnings, social movements.

It was all making sense, like a swimming mosaic. And she could pick out any tile at any moment and give the picture a new image. Was this what it was like for Daud? Billie didn’t know. She had not built he Whalers. She had seen most of them join and come into their own by now, but the actual founding of the group with its own goals was not hers.

Another of Burrows’ enemies had bitten the dust and once again it was time to face Daud. Billie wondered when visiting him had become something she dreaded. But the Whalers needed him; she needed him. Without his abilities, they were nothing, just another rabble.

Daud stood with his back to her, as was his new way. He studied the wall that was still covered with maps and the faces of targets. Billie had tried to use it, but he had stopped her. She had her own corner, smaller, less visible where she kept track of their exploits.

“Sir?” She didn’t bother with parade rest. “A word?”

“What do you need, Billie?” He didn’t turn around.

“You.” That got a reaction.

Daud turned to look at her, disapproval written all over his craggy features.

Billie ignored it. It was time to raise him from whatever mood had taken hold of him after the murder of Empress Jessamine. “The Whalers need you, old man. They need to see that you’re still our boss.”

For a while he didn’t reply. “The Whalers are doing good from what I hear.”

“They are, sir, I see to that. But as second in command I have only so much authority.” Billie shook her head. “They see me go in here and return with orders but nobody can verify if they are truly yours. I can keep things together but I do need a hand now and then.”

“Why not let things fall apart?” Daud asked, his tone serious.

“This is my home, my life,” Billie replied. “I will not see it fall apart.

“Then I chose well.” He nodded curtly. “Have you noted changes in the city?”

“Of course,” the glow kindled by his praise gripped Billie even after all these years. “There is more unrest. The gangs are getting stronger, Bottle Street Gang is branching out from their distillery, the Hatters and Dead Eels are as yet just looking, but looking at war.

“Civilians are retreating from the quarters the gangs move into. But there are many free places in Dunwall to move into right now.” Billie sighed. “All rat-infested of course and not safe.”

“News on the murder of High Overseer Campbell?”

“None, sir.” Billie felt better moving back to safer subjects. “A masked murderer, but not wearing one of our masks. I have alerted all scouts and patrols and warned them not to engage. Whoever they are, if they can sneak into the office of the High Overseer unseen and kill Campbell and leave alive and unseen, they are dangerous.”

Daud nodded agreement. “Any requests on their head yet?”

“No. But if they keep killing, I am sure somebody will ask.” She smiled. “The powerful are always ready to fear.”

“What about us?” Daud asked.

Billie wished he would stop with those questions out of the left field. “We are the fear,” she replied.

“And that’s enough?”

“We are the most renown gang in Dunwall, untouchable and perfect in the execution of our work. Our face stands for quality and death; for information and inside jobs. There is nothing we cannot achieve. And it all comes down to you.” Billie took a deep breath. “What is it that you want next? We will get it.”

“What about you, Lurk?” Daud wanted to know. “What do you want?”

“I have everything I want, sir.” She was taken aback. “Everything I want in this city is mine; everything I could want will be. All it as my fingertips. What I want I take.”

“As it should be.” Daud made it sound almost like a question. “Do you ever wonder who you would be if you had not followed me that night?”

“Dead,” Billie replied without hesitation. “I would be dead now. I was an outcast, hunted, starving, desperate and at the end of my line. If you want to know if taking me in was the right decision, than I am not the right person to ask.”

Daud broke out a small smile. “Point taken.”

“And here I am now,” Billie pushed on. “The best assassin Dunwall has to offer, second to one only.” And how she wished that one would climb out of his pit and join his men again.

“No regrets at all, huh?”

“None. I am who I am today, alive and strong because of you. You are the compass.”

“For morals?” Daud snorted.

“For everything.”

He looked at her as if he saw her for the first time. “So killing the Empress was the right thing to do?”

Morals, Billie was ready to heave a sigh. If that was what was on his mind the past weeks, he would never recover. Right and wrong were not concepts applicable to their lives. You took the money and did the job. Once you started picking apart the good and the bad, it could only end in pain.

She looked back at all the assassinations she had participated in. Starting to look through them with the lens of right and wrong always made you wrong.

There was too much good blood on her hands. The bad blood could never outweigh it because how was one evil life even a loss? So she would steer clear of morals. Every life had a price and if you could afford to pay it, you got it. End of story.

She knew there was a young woman staring at her from years past in disbelief. But she had learnt her lesson well. Assassination was a business without a heart. It bred fertile ground for extortion, fraud, espionage, kidnapping. Anything you could come up with, the Whalers could and would do. They were expensive and very precise mercenaries. They were always right. The money said so.

“We accepted the contract and the money,” Billie said finally. “Of course it was the right thing to do. We are the knife, not the hand that wields it.”

After a moment of intense silence, Daud changed the subject. “Tell me about the job at hand.”

Billie nodded and laid out the details of their next job. Familiar territory and it would be good to have Daud leading them again. She could feel eyes like knives in her back digging deeper the longer the old man hid. She did not want to die for somebody else’s ambitions. And to keep those with ambition in line she needed Daud to back her up. Either that or-

It was unsettling to think that she could run the Whalers. They obeyed and most never questioned her authority. But she could never take over from Daud. He was the source from which her authority and power stemmed. Authority she could do on her own, but power – there was no substitute.

For a while she had actively sought out the Outsider hoping to be granted magic of her own. It never happened and tales she found of such pursuits ended in blood, not only those told by the Church of the Everyman. And no matter how much Billie craved to have power as her own, she also wanted to live.

So she would stick with what she had been given and try to catch the eyes of the Outsider in more subtle ways. If he had shown interest in Daud, he had to be watching her. They were too similar for him not to notice. Even now, as they moved silently through the night to eliminate another unlucky soul, Billie watched out for the signs. As always there were none.

She brought up the rear after the deed, managed the aftermath and secured the headquarters. Scouts and lookouts needed as much attention as logistics and bookkeeping. But Daud had been there when she had said, done what she had announced he would do. Billie fled back into Dunwall’s streets as soon as she could. The Whalers would follow her for another while, but it was exhausting to scrape through from one of Daud’s appearances to the next.

The streets offered momentary relief. Without her gear, Billie was just another citizen in a writhing city. It smelled of fear and death, rats scuttled in the corners. Somebody was watching her from a distance. Billie allowed them to follow for a while, moving into the darker parts of Dunwall, her parts of Dunwall.

The silent watcher vanished suddenly. Billie looked around, dark windows and barred doorways surrounded her. The air seemed to tingle for a moment before she heard a voice above her.

“Well, well, well.” The woman descended to the road “Look who’s playing around pretending to be one of the big players.”

Billie tensed ready to fight or retreat. She measured the other in silence.

“Oh, don’t worry, I know who you are and who you are playing for.” The woman picked a rose from her collar, twirling it between her fingers. “But are you happy, Billie Lurk?”

Billie froze when she heard her own name. It was no secret, but who outside the Whalers would know it. She narrowed her eyes. “And who would you be?”

“You can call me Delilah.” She laughed. “That will suffice right? Unless you would like to know more?” She took a gliding step forwards.

Billie backed away instinctively.

“Scared already?” Delilah laughed. “I thought that would be more difficult. But listen. I am not here to frighten you. I am here to offer you what you have always wanted: control.”

“Is that so?” Billie asked.

“Only if you make it so.” Delilah held out the rose. “I have seen you moving through the night, doing another man’s bidding. I know why you are at his side, beautiful Billie. And I know you don’t have to and still keep the powers that make you so happy.”

“And why would you do that?” Billie wanted to know.

“Because we women have to stick together?” Delilah teased. “Because the man you trusted and followed is losing his edge. Because the Whalers will fall apart if he does and nobody will be there to step up? Chose your reasons.”

“What are you getting out of it?”

“Oh, I am getting more than enough out of it,” Delilah replied. “Don’t worry your head about that. I don’t expect you to be my second in return. Other arrangements can be made of course, if you so desire.”

Billie didn’t like the insinuation. Still she could not deny the appeal of Delilah’s movements, soft like silk and mercury. “If you have come to test my loyalty, you have come to the wrong person.” She picked the rose from Delilah’s hand and dropped it to the ground.

“Oh, I know that,” Delilah stepped onto the rose, crushing it carelessly under her boot. “That is why I came to you, Billie. You are for the Whalers, for their future. And I am just here to tell you that your suspicious are true, you are their future.”

Delilah ran her fingers softly over Billie’s cheek, stepping away quickly before the Whaler could react. “Remember my words, beautiful Billie. You are the future. And I will help you keep it as magical as the present.”

She vanished in a flutter of darkness against the night, leaving Billie alone in the alley. She looked around but the feeling of being watched had gone. All that remained of the encounter were the flattened pieces of a rose on the pavement. Billie crouched down, scraping the mushed petals off the cobbles. Just a rose, nothing more.

But Delilah had vanished in transversal, she had the power to do that. It was dangerous, a risk for the Whalers. On the other hand she had not made a move against them. On the contrary. Billie dropped then dead flower again and stood. Well, it would take a little more than that to make her even consider betraying Daud.

Just because she could run the Whalers didn’t mean she should, right? And just because she had thought about it—Billie sighed. Time to return home.

 

* * *

 

“Any better yet?” As usual, Delilah appeared out of nothing right inside Billie’s personal space. She had stopped minding. The words trickled down her neck gently.

“It’s not and you know it.” Her attempt to be gruff fell short. Daud had returned somewhat to business. It was just not the same. He was – careful. His actions mirrored the battle about wrong and right he was still fighting and it was disturbing to watch.

Billie had thought it would wear off after a few weeks. It had not. Where guards had received a quick blade in the throat, they now ere choked unconscious, deposited safely out of the way. She mimicked his behaviour, but it did nothing for her; the survival of the guards was ultimately meaningless.

Delilah understood. She had her own coven, and though the witches were friendly to Billie both sides knew that this was not her way. Sisterhood had its appeal, but Billie was ready to be her own boss. There was only so much fraternisation within your organisation possible before it undermined you authority.

Daud had shown her how to balance closeness and command perfectly. The right mix bred loyalty and commitment. Some of which she couldn’t get over; some of which he still had to rebuild. A slow process since his own commitment to the Whalers was only implicit through his actions. Only years of competent leadership and Billie’s own relentless work kept some of the Whalers in line.

“So when will you do something about it?” Delilah asked.

“Soon.” It was a tried answer. Billie was almost tired of it, Delilah certainly was.

“Just say the word,” Delilah prodded. “Everything is ready to be set in motion. What are you waiting for? A sign from the Outsider himself?”

That would be nice. But everybody knew the story of the drowning man who refused the help of two passing ships counting on divine intervention. Fate was what you made it. Maybe the Outsider would finally intervene when she went for Daud’s life. If she did that. When she did that. It was unlikely he would let her little coup stand if he was alive.

It was not wrong. Daud himself had taught her to take any opportunity as it presented itself. There was unrest among the Whalers, dissatisfaction with Daud’s new way of handling things. The agitators would join her and almost everybody else was sure to get in line once it was clear they were outnumbered.

And what was more important, she would keep the black magic. It would be up to her to bestow its gifts. Those who failed her would stay deprived. It was a strong motivator. Some would not admit to it, but the ability to move through space and almost time itself unhindered, to call down the winds or rats – it was a glorious addiction.

“Soon,” Billie repeated.

Delilah was right. Daud kept acting strange. His sudden obsession with right, wrong, and innocence was disturbing and detrimental to business. Still it was hard to move against him. In all these years Billie had tried to live up to his expectations, to surpass them. And it was Daud who had taught her that there were no friends in this business.

The Whalers were her home, her family. They were suffering under the failing guidance. It was her duty, her right to help them. It was time to take control. But it was still hard.

“Follow me,” Delilah held out her hand. “I know what you need.”

Billie couldn’t help smiling as she took it. She knew some of the charm was aimed at her for effect and cooperation. But Delilah was an interesting woman, she knew her strengths and was not afraid to play them. “What are we up to?”

“Just a little fun.” Delilah laughed when she looked at Billie. “Innocent fun. Something to ease your mind. You’re fine physically.”

Billie joined her laughter. Delilah was right. She was fine physically and she did need a distraction. They moved through the city like black liquid. The embrace of the shadows and sharp twist of transversal gave Billie the feeling of safety it always had. This was her city, her turf, her darkness. She owned it.

Soon they left the crumbling suburbs behind. Mansions began to line the streets with increasing distance to one another, long driveways lead up to abandoned houses where important people had resided fashionably far from the city centre. A lifestyle that was only affordable if you didn’t have to go into the city to work.

The Rat Plague had scared most of the owners away. Many resided in their summer places in Karnaca and all over the southern isles. Billie understood why Daud detested them. The rich followed no rules, they bought everything, even the freedom to travel, even if it might mean doom for their destinations. The egotism.

Lights were burning in one of the houses. They flickered in the light breeze. Billie wondered if there was no electricity and the inhabitants had to use fire instead, candles and torches. As they drew nearer she realised it was nothing so basic. But many of the light bulbs were simply hanging from thin wire that moved in the gentle breeze.

In the garden a group of men and women were training. It looked okay, but after years of discipline, Billie saw the flaws immediately. Nobody cared how well you could throw a knife. You had to get to it first. A hard punch was good, but you needed to be able to vary the angles and to block an incoming one. The exercises she saw were mainly displays of strength.

“Who are they?”

“Nobodies,” Delilah said dismissively. “Of course they think differently. They think they are the next big gang in Dunwall. Calling themselves Rabid Rats doesn’t help their cause.”

Billie watched the people train. They didn’t look as if they could take on Bottle Street Gang or any gang. But they were ruthless. They didn’t fight to win, they fought to kill. “There’s only ten of them.”

“Seven more are inside, two of them asleep,” Delilah replied. “Some more are out, but they won’t be back in time to do anything. Except if you want to linger.”

There was rarely time to practice on life targets. The recent jobs had also been more peaceful than anticipated. It was disappointing when you had honed yourself into the perfect weapon over the years. You didn’t do that to hang it in a case over the fireplace. Power like that needed to be used.

You can do whatever you like, Billie thought. You are your own boss now and that of everybody else soon enough. Cleaning out gangs in Dunwall could even be labelled a civil service.

“The odds are hardly fair,” Billie smiled.

“When can they ever be against goddesses of war like us?” Delilah smiled back.

She had a point. Billie closed her eyes drawing on the powers granted by Daud and Delilah. It was just a taste of what was to come. Delilah would bestow more power on her after removing Daud. More power than he had ever given her. She couldn’t wait to explore the different abilities. But she might also lose some of those she had now.

“Let’s do Dunwall a service,” she finally said.

In reply Delilah leant forwards and kissed her cheek. “I knew I could count on you, Billie.”

They transversed into the garden, cutting of the first two screams before they could form. Calling upon the wind, Billie unbalanced a woman pointing a crossbow in their direction, vaulting out of the way of a crude stab. Pivoting as she touched down, Billie drove her sword into the second attacker. From the corner of her eye she saw Delilah taking out another man swinging a club beautifully but uselessly.

The woman with the crossbow had gained her balance again. Billie smiled and aimed Thorns. It was new power, something Delilah had granted as a teaser of things to come. The black projectiles hit home in the woman’s throat and chest. She collapsed in silence.

Billie laughed to herself, slicing through the next man’s throat and transversing out of the way of an incoming bullet. The shot woke the remaining gang members, filling the garden with more adversaries.

There was no time to think. Billie slipped into the place where only motion and survival existed. She danced between the incoming arrows and bullets like a winter witch between snowflakes. Delilah’s laughter accompanied each move. Years of practice allowed Billie to sweep through the raging gang with unsheathed knives. They hardly knew where she was, transversing from one point to the next.

One member even fell under friendly fire. Billie laughed as she cut the killer’s throat, pulling his whole body back by his head. The man toppled backwards, blood raining before him. But she was gone again already, appearing like a lethal darkness behind the next man who had turned to watch the sudden death of his colleague with side eyes.

It was a dance, one she excelled at. Billie felt the blood rush inside her and outside of her as well. This, this was what she had trained for. Precise killing. Silence fell eventually, disturbed only by the light footfall of the two women meeting in the middle of the garden. Bodies lay around them like remains of an extravagant party where all guests had celebrated until they keeled over where they stood.

Unthinking, Billie wiped a small droplet of blood from Delilah’s face. “You know that Daud is still investigating you?” Billie asked. “We have been scouting out Barrister Timsh.”

“Let him.” Delilah was unconcerned. She took Billie’s hand and put her fingers to her lips. “Timsh knows nothing.”

Be that as it might. Billie looked at the corpses around them. In time Daud would find out about Delilah. He could not fail to notice their involvement. There were not many conclusions he could come to and less consequences for him to draw.

“I will let you know when he goes after Timsh,” Billie decided. “Time to move things behind his back in the Flooded district.”

“You will finally be where you belong,” Delilah replied. “We will have so much fun together, ruling Dunwall from behind the scenes. You will see.”

Billie believed it. The transition period would be hard, but what change was not? A volley of Thorns buried itself in a wall as she passed it in the darkness. This was power. She was unstoppable. She was all Daud had taught her and now she was even more than that. It was time. She closed her eyes briefly. No. It was time.


	5. Epilogue: Something Rotten

So this was it. Billie crouched on the rooftop of their derelict headquarters. The last tokens had been placed, the last preparations were done. It felt strange. The air seemed to taste different, as if the flowery magic of Delilah permeated everything, smothering everything in a heavy green scent. Billie looked at the Whalers patrolling below her.

Something struck home inside of her. Those were her people. She knew each and every of them. She knew who would be unhappy, who would fall in line, who would appreciate. She had been working on this network for years. None wearing the distinctive mask today did not know her or owe her. She was not only Daud’s second in command. She was the linchpin of the Whalers. They came to her with everything. And she solved it or took it to Daud.

She smiled under her mask. These were her people. And soon they would be her people in more than this. The real detriment had always been the lack of magic. Without it the Whalers were just another gang. It was unthinkable. But she had her own access now.

As if to prove a point, Billie transversed across the square. This was hers. This would be hers. Whatever had happened to Daud when they killed Empress Kaldwin, it ended here. She, Billie Lurk, would make it end. She would pick up the pieces he let slide. Her Whalers would be known not only in Dunwall, but all through the Isles.

Maybe she would get to captain a ship after all. A metaphorical ship, maybe but a good one. Her crew. Her Whalers. The deceit leading up to this was regrettable but concessionary. And she had learnt her lessons well. If it needed doing, do it. If you could get paid for it, collect the money. A pay-off didn’t have to be coin. She had learnt this making her deal with Delilah. Everybody had a price, sometimes you just needed to change the currency.

Her mind wandered to Daud. Daud being careful and almost repentant in the last weeks. Daud who had taught her to be who she was. She would miss him. In his own way, he had been a good man and good to her.


End file.
